


Reassurance

by Felixbug



Series: Breaking the Silence [15]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, M/M, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rimming, Rough Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:31:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4477637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felixbug/pseuds/Felixbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Reassurance started as a kiss – heated, deep, Hawke growling into Anders’ open mouth as he gave in to temptation and sank his fingers into soft, red-gold hair. It became something more as Justice’ surged up through Anders’ body, nails biting into Hawke’s hips, humming against his neck as he kissed and sucked down to the collar of his shirt. Reassurance left Anders panting, whining, hands gripping the headboard as Justice sent flickers of pleasure through his nerves and Hawke sank into him with a groan, forehead resting against his shoulder as he rolled his hips. It took long enough to be certain Anders was thoroughly reassured that they were twenty minutes late for Wicked Grace – but Hawke could tell, it had been more than worth it. As the door to Varric’s suite closed behind them, Anders’ back straightened, his shoulders pulled back – and blue light raced through his veins to pool in his eyes.</i>
</p><p>  <i>“Justice will be joining us tonight,” Hawke said. “Any questions?”</i></p><p>Hawke encourages Justice to socialise in an attempt to reduce growing tensions within the group. The results are mixed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Picks up about a week after Mortal Pleasures - if you skipped that one due to the ridiculous tag list (haha god that fic was pure sin) then all you missed is 1. Justice likes small cakes and whipped cream now. Preferably smeared over Hawke's naked body but he'll take what he can get aaaand 2. Fenris walked in on Hawke kissing Justice and there was a lot of shouting, and Hawke was really worried about potential consequences if Fenris told the wrong people. 
> 
> If you've skipped the whole series - Hawke/Anders/Justice are in an established relationship, my Hawke is polyamorous, purple/red mix, pro-mage as fuck. We're close to the end of Act 2 now, Leandra died about 6 weeks ago, and the series follows canon very closely (so far).
> 
> Bumped up the estimated Chapters as this one's run away from me and shows no signs of behaving any time soon ;)

The change came like breaths – smooth, steady, utterly natural. Hawke’s fingers dug into bony hips as he pounded into the writhing, gasping body beneath him – one body, but not one man. Anders moaned his name, head thrown back with his lower lip drawn between his teeth, and then Hawke thrust again and a wave of blue rippled through his veins. The fingers gripping Hawke’s ass tightened, the moans became a rumbling roar of pleasure, and Justice raked his nails up Hawke’s back with a snarl.

“ _Maker,_ ” Hawke groaned, and the pulse came again. Blue faded leaving only pale, freckled skin, and Anders’ hands sank into his hair and pulled him down face to face.

“Harder,” Anders panted. “He wants – you to – fuck me hard.”

“Doesn’t he always?” Hawke smirked, and slammed his hips forward roughly. “Work, work, work _– fuck_.”

Anders’ fingertips had slid from his hair to the back of his neck, and the instant they touched his skin, sparks blossomed. Anders’ magic broke him, erasing thought and restraint as he pounded into him grunting, growling, and crying out desperately as his cock ached and throbbed inside Anders’ hot, tight entrance. Anders’ hands leaked heat and sparks to flow across his skin, and when Justice came forward again he maintained the soothing caress of warmth and the searing snap of electricity, growling as he pressed his lips to Hawke’s jawline and held him close.

“I – assure you,” he panted. “In the Fade, I am more than willing to…” he cried out sharply, arching against Hawke’s chest. “To – do my share.”

“Yeah?” Hawke cupped Justice’s ass and slammed his cock deep, leaving both of them groaning. “You make him whimper?”

“Always.”

“Scream?”

“ _Yes._ On his knees, howling my name, dripping with my seed and begging for more.”

“Fuck, Justice,” Hawke moaned shakily. “I’m – let me see you both – I’m so close…”

Justice’s eyes blazed, but Hawke could see Anders’ warm, honey-coloured irises beneath the veil of blue. His veins glowed, but the cracks in his skin faded, and the urgent moans tumbling from their lips were both Anders’ voice and the deep, reverberating growl that was all Justice. Their hands sparked and stroked and gripped, their thighs clenched around his waist, and their stretched, oiled hole gripped his cock so exquisitely tight he could think of nothing else. He could feel himself shaking on the edge of climax, lips parted, fingertips digging into pert flesh, cock pulsing as he rammed it deep. Another rough thrust, another dual-voiced moan, and Hawke was dragged over the edge – to burn, to shudder, to fall. Heat and pleasure tore through him, leaving him gasping helplessly against his lovers’ neck as their sweat-slick bodies moved together and his cock spilled deep inside their body.

“Your mouth,” Justice growled against his ear. _No patience_ – Hawke might have chuckled at the thought, but he wasn’t sure he had the energy.

He found the motivation – Justice’s voice did things to him, wrought obedience from a life-long troublemaker. He was exactly as helpless as he wanted to be as Justice pushed him onto his back and rose off his cock with a sigh. Hawke tried to catch a glimpse – imagining the thick trails of his come running over taut thighs – but Justice pushed him down, Anders’ playful grin almost a ghost on his lips.

“We will use your mouth,” he said. “Do you consent?”

“Course, love,” Hawke said – and met Justice’s – Anders’ – their thrust with parted lips and an eager sweep of tongue.

The hands holding his head in place were Justice’s – he could have recognised the iron grip even without the blue glare dancing in the edges of his vision. The thick stretch of the rigid shaft in his mouth tasted of the Fade – lightning and lyrium, smoke and magic – but it was Anders’ voice that moaned his name and when Hawke looked up over the taut, straining arch of his body, he saw amber eyes looking down into his. Blue fire raced up Anders’ arms, marking them as Justice’s – but a second set of ghostly blue hands gripped Anders’ hips and controlled his thrusts, forcing him forward, pushing his – their – cock deep into Hawke’s throat.

Hawke took it easily – eagerly – and before long Anders’ ragged gasps had become low, urgent cries. A teasing drag of teeth earned Hawke a whimper, and he let his hands drift up lean thighs to grip Anders’ ass. His fingers brushed against the strange, ethereal presence of Justice’s hands as they both pushed and pulled, as Hawke’s tongue swept and flicked, and he moaned around Anders’ cock as it sank deep into his throat once more.

“You – you two,” Anders whimpered. “I – Maker, that’s – _oh, yes_ …”

Anders’ body tensed, Justice’s hands in Hawke’s hair became bruising tight, and all Hawke could do was moan eagerly as the hot, salty flood of come spilled over his tongue. He lapped eagerly – tasting Anders, and Justice beneath – and every drag of his tongue over the slick, twitching length dragged shaky cries from the glowing, shuddering body above him. Light flickered over their skin in time with their pounding heart, and as their cock slid from between Hawke’s red, come-slicked lips, their knees buckled and they half-collapsed against him.

Hawke wrapped his arm around Anders’ – he thought he was Anders, anyway – waist, gently easing him down his body until they were lying side by side. Justice’s hands skimmed over Anders’ body for a moment, tracing the ridge of his hip, the outline of his ribs and the slight softness of his belly. They swept up, brushed his lips for a moment, then down his arms and sank back within his skin.

“That trick never stops being impressive.”

“You’re – telling me,” Anders panted, a blissful, lopsided grin appearing on his face.

“So – what other body parts can he..?”

“Maker, Garrett.”

“I mean, if he can do that with his hands – can’t his uh, essence, do the essencey thing in other ways?”

“Hands are a symbol.” That wasn’t Anders’ voice, and Hawke looked down to see two big, blue eyes staring back at him. Justice rested his cheek on Hawke’s chest, rumbling faintly in the way that always reminded Hawke of a very large, very fierce cat. “Symbols are easy.”

“Not sure I understand, love?”

“Healing hands, a fist formed in anger – pointing, signing your name, gripping the hand of another mortal, a firm shake to signify trust – decisions and explanations, mercy and condemnation. Hands are important.” Justice looked thoughtful for a moment. “I manifest my will – my intent – and this is what I can create.”

“Oh.” Hawke ruffled Justice’s hair – as much for the surprised rumble it caused as the feel of silky strands between his fingers. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to convince all of mortal society to introduce the cock-shake to seal a deal.”

“Garrett…”

“No – really, I think it could catch on.”

“You are a ridiculous mortal.” Justice kissed his chest, and Hawke beamed at the slight twist he saw at the corner of Justice’s lips. He’d make him laugh at a joke – hopefully a dirty one – eventually. “I am beginning to find your bizarre communication comforting.”

“I think that was a compliment?” Hawke laughed. “Might want to work on those, beautiful.”

“I have loved you for – quite some time. Longer, I think, than I at first believed. But I found mortal communication difficult – yours especially.”

“I know, I know. I’m working on it.”

“And I appreciate it – very much. But it is you. You make a mockery of everything you care for, and laugh in the face of what you fear you cannot fight. I have come to appreciate it. It feels…” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “There are not places in the Fade – not exactly. There are feelings – currents of emotion, of memory, of half-forgotten thought. It is – a sense you do not have, a scent might be the closest? When you are there, you are caught up in these eddies, carried to the place you belong. And when the current is familiar to you, you are home. Your face, when it does this…” Justice twisted his mouth into an approximation of Hawke’s smirk. “The small laugh you do – low and warm – the way you always find the least appropriate words, and say them without second thought. This is home. This is everything I thought I lost – and it is so much more besides.”

“I think…” Hawke swallowed, fighting his instincts to throw out a joke, to redirect the conversation, to tear his gaze away from Justice’s intense, burning stare. He loved him – loved them both – but talking about it had never been easy. Justice’s unflinching honesty was something he admired, but couldn’t quite replicate. “I think I know the feeling.”

Justice moved up and kissed him – there was none of the rough urgency in it that there often was, in the bliss of the afterglow Justice was incredibly sweet and gentle, a hand that could crush Hawke’s skull in an instant cradling his cheek, holding him as if he was made of glass. Justice’s lips were warm and soft against his, drawing a low moan from Hawke that Justice met with a contented rumble as his tongue traced Hawke’s lower lip.

“I do not wish to leave this bed tonight,” Justice said as they broke apart, still close enough Hawke could have leaned up and bitten the tempting curve of Justice’s lip. “I thought – we could speak for a while? The three of us – Anders and I find it easier when you are with us. And then…”

“Justice can’t stop thinking about the tray of éclairs he saw Orana making,” Anders said, taking over with a snort of laughter. Hawke heard the faint grumble behind his voice as the glow faded from his eyes and he took control. “He was going to suggest eating them in bed – and a few more creative uses for the cream.”

“I’ve corrupted a spirit,” Hawke said in mock horror. “I’m headed straight to the Void. Why’d you stop him?”

“Because I know you too well.” Anders grinned and sat up, picking up his discarded shirt from the edge of the bed. “You want to make it to the Hanged Man tonight? If you hear Justice talking like that I’ll have two of you to drag, not one.”

“Is it a terrible idea?”

“Oh, it’s the worst idea.” Anders began hunting for his trousers – Hawke secretly hoped he didn’t find them, the sight of Anders in his white shirt with long legs and the small, firm curve of his ass on display was much better. “Fenris hates all three of us, Isabela can barely keep her mouth shut even when she’s sober, and Justice can’t lie. This is going to be messy.”

“So – the enthusiastic enabling?”

“That infuriating elf…” Anders took a breath. “ _Fenris_ is important to you. He’s important to Orana, too. Poor girl’s been a mess all week. If this is what you think it takes?” He shimmied into his trousers, and Hawke gave a dramatic, long-suffering sigh.

“You know, if you’re going to make so much sense, you could at least do it wearing a bit less.”

“Up,” Anders said with a smirk.

“Didn’t see this coming,” Hawke said. “ _You_ dragging _me_ out to see our friends – first drinking with Bela and Merrill, now this? What have I created?”

“Someone who loves you.” Anders met him as Hawke sat up at the edge of the bed, the mage’s long legs between his spread thighs. “Someone who’s seen you moping around the estate too much these last few weeks.” He stroked Hawke’s hair, and ran his thumb over his cheekbone. “Someone who listens when you tell me I need to spend time with people other than you and Justice and my patients.”

“Well…” Hawke turned his face into Anders’ palm and pressed a kiss to his wrist. “How am I supposed to argue with that?”

“You can try, but I’m _very_ convincing.”

Hawke gathered his clothes – his shirt was missing a button, and he considered wearing it anyway for a moment before going to hunt through the wardrobe for another. He very determinedly _didn’t_ think of Justice clawing it off him, breath hot against his neck, sparking fingers sliding under the fabric to circle his nipple.

“Anders lies.”

Hawke turned, half-way into a dark red shirt Justice hadn’t got around to tearing off him yet, and came face to face with the spirit. He’d followed him silently – incredibly light-footed, for all his glowing and growling.

“About anything I should worry about?”

“Perhaps not.” Justice frowned. “Perhaps – by mortal standards it would not be a lie. I am confused, even now. He smiles, he laughs, he jokes – these are dishonest, he is afraid.”

“Yeah – not exactly lies.” Hawke buttoned his shirt, smirking as he noticed Justice’s gaze follow his fingers. “I’m nervous too. Mortals can feel one thing and want to be feeling another. So we sort of – do our best. Hope the real version catches up later, you know?”

“Ah – yes, I understand.” Justice nodded. “I do not think tonight will solve your conflict with Fenris. Few of your friends treat Anders well.”

“That’s…” Hawke winced. “Ok, no, that’s fair. I mean – he’s not always careful with their feelings either.”

“I do not understand. He and Merrill do not get along – and, yes, he is often the cause. But he will joke with her when Isabela is with them. This does not change that Merrill has bound herself to a demon, nor does it change that Anders cannot accept her culture’s beliefs.”

“Isabela is a master of redirection.” Hawke turned Justice around gently and pulled back his hair, combing his fingers through it. “Trust me, she probably spent every second of their evening together managing the conversation so no one said anything controversial. She’s stopped me shoving my massive feet into my mouth more times than I can count.”

“She is kind to Anders, generally. I do not dislike her, although I do not believe she is comfortable with my presence.”

“Mixed feelings, then?” Hawke asked.

“She is dishonest. Often, and unashamedly. She steals, and makes no attempt to atone. She has a very poor understanding of justice.”

“Well, tonight’s your chance.” Hawke finished tying back his hair, and kissed the crack that branched over his cheekbone. “Let her get to know you better.”

“Your advice is wise. Anders worries that I do not have friends – only lovers. She is a fair choice – she and Anders are often friendly – I think mainly because of their mutual attra–“

“Aa– no,” Anders finished, the blue light blinking out abruptly.

“Hey – let the oversharing spirit finish,” Hawke teased. Anders groaned and swatted his arm.

“It’s not – I mean, a long time ago…”

“Love, I don’t care. Really, if you’re interested, you only have to say so.”

“I’m not.” Anders shook his head. “I mean – yes, she’s gorgeous. Obviously. But she’s not you, or Justice.” He shrugged. “Lost my taste for just-for-fun, and I’m not saying Bela wouldn’t ever go for more but if she did, it wouldn’t have been me.”

“That’s fair.”

“Are you..?” Anders shook his head. “No, forget I asked.”

“You want to know if I still ever want anyone else?”

“I know we’re different. I always – I mean, after Karl left I tried a lot of things. Tried a lot of _people._ Didn’t ever regret it – but I always wanted something more like this.” Anders laughed. “I didn’t imagine anything _quite_ like this, of course. But you know – settling down. I thought it was impossible, I didn’t want to want it – but I did.”

“I’ve never been opposed to settling down.” Hawke turned Anders around to face him, and brought their lips together. One hand cupped the back of Anders’ head – he tried not to mess up his hair, but it was so tempting to sink his fingers into it and _pull._ Anders’ gasp against his lips was intoxicating – he wanted another, and sought it with every graze of teeth and every teasing sweep of tongue. He could feel the flush in his face and quickening of his pulse as they broke apart, Anders’ eyes dark and lips softly parted.

“I still _look,_ ” Hawke admitted. “I think that’d happen whether I was with one man or two or twenty – though if they were twenty like you two, I doubt I’d survive it.” Anders laughed, and Hawke couldn’t resist a quick nip at his jawline. “I don’t feel like I’ve given anything up, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m sorry – I know I ask a lot…”

“You ask as much as you need,” Hawke said. “Any time you need to. I want you to know I’m not going anywhere – I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Reassurance started as a kiss – heated, deep, Hawke growling into Anders’ open mouth as he gave in to temptation and sank his fingers into soft, red-gold hair. It became something more as Justice’ surged up through Anders’ body, nails biting into Hawke’s hips, humming against his neck as he kissed and sucked down to the collar of his shirt. Reassurance left Anders panting, whining, hands gripping the headboard as Justice sent flickers of pleasure through his nerves and Hawke sank into him with a groan, forehead resting against his shoulder as he rolled his hips. It took long enough to be certain Anders was thoroughly reassured that they were twenty minutes late for Wicked Grace – but Hawke could tell, it had been more than worth it. As the door to Varric’s suite closed behind them, Anders’ back straightened, his shoulders pulled back – and blue light raced through his veins to pool in his eyes.

“Justice will be joining us tonight,” Hawke said. “Any questions?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vague mentions of rape/sexual abuse and slavery in this chapter, the conversation took a slightly dark turn which is exactly what I get for letting my characters do things that weren't in the notes. 
> 
> Should be back on track in the next one :P

And Mortals thought the Fade chaotic.

Justice stood stiffly, hands hovering at his sides as Hawke talked – not quite argued, but they were on the edge of it – with his friends. There were too many voices, and it was difficult to focus. He could feel Anders becoming agitated, and sent a soothing pulse of warmth through their nerves. He was here, as was Hawke. There was no danger.

“Alright, alright – enough.” Varric flopped back into his seat, palms raised. “I’m sure Hawke agrees, mentioning this in advance _might_ have been a good idea.”

“Good way for half of you not to show…”

“And I’m sure Fenris agrees that storming off in the middle of a game isn’t necessary just because Blondie’s a little glowier than usual.”

“ _Hmph_.”

“You know the rules?”

Justice realised the final comment was addressed to him, and turned towards the source. Isabela had stretched out one booted foot to nudge out a stool, her fingers drumming on one bare thigh.

“I – believe so.”

“I’m sure Hawke and Anders have taught you all kinds of things,” she purred. “I’ve been dying with curiosity.”

“This is obscene,” Fenris growled as Justice seated himself stiffly on the stool beside Isabela. He could feel Anders’ discomfort – and a little amusement at Isabela’s words that he tried to stifle – and focused firmly on the pleasantly matte surface of the cards Isabela handed him. There were too many voices, but this texture was a simple distraction. He ran his fingertips over the cards, rumbling quietly as Varric kicked Fenris under the table.

“Oh dear – should I move, Hawke?”

Justice looked to his right, and his eyes narrowed. He could sense the corrupt spirit’s hold on Merrill, could almost see the dark tendrils of its influence coiled around her angular face and big, round eyes. She shot him a slightly worried smile, seeming unbothered – unstifled – by the oppressive, choking force of her magic.

“He doesn’t bite,” Hawke said, squeezing behind Isabela to take a seat on the far side of the table.

“Oh? Isabela told me he does. I mean, not that I blame him – after what that awful man did to your m–“

“Little less literal, kitten,” Isabela said quickly.

“Oh you meant – oh, I see.” Merrill cringed. “There I go. I just meant I thought you’d want to sit with Anders. If he – I mean, is Anders still here?” She turned to Justice. “I’m sorry, I’m being terribly rude. Do I talk to both of you?”

“Anders is aware,” Justice said. “You may address whoever you wish.”

“No, talk to Justice,” Hawke said. “That’s sort of the point. Look – this is – fuck it, this is complicated. Anders and Justice are working on learning to share a bit better.”

“Mm, now there’s a mental image.”

Justice shot a sharp glance at Isabela – she’d promised not to reveal their secret, but she spoke like Hawke – jokes that meant more than the surface implied, hidden meanings decoded with a raised eyebrow and a twist of her lips. Hawke wished to introduce him to his friends – not announce the full nature of their relationship. Isabela’s careless jokes could endanger them all. Justice had come to love the way Hawke spoke – but under the circumstances, he found he did not love it from this near-stranger.

“I swear to the Maker, Bela, you can make anything dirty.” Hawke snorted and shook his head.

“Anders has another man inside him, and you’ve invited the rest of us to watch. Sweetheart, it’s already dirty.” She grinned and scooted back her stool, propping both feet on the table as she flipped idly through her cards. “C’mon, make your big speech, I’m getting bored already.”

“No big speech. Just – treat Justice like you would anyone else I call a friend. He’s not Anders.”

“I am.” All eyes turned to him, and Justice felt suddenly uneasy. Too many mortals in a small space, gathered around the rickety table with the thick scent of ale in the air along with the leather of boots and the underlying hint of candle smoke. “I am Anders. He is Justice. We exist as one, and two. We cannot be separated.”

“Sorry,” Hawke said. “He’s – not _mostly_ Anders.”

“I do not care what it is.” Fenris threw down his cards with a scowl. “I will not play cards with a demon.”

“You just did,” Isabela said. She sighed, and revealed her own cards, “Did you even notice you had the Angel of Death? If you’re going to cheat, you could at least try to keep track. Anyway, unless Justice has killer beginner’s luck or Merrill’s resorted to blood magic, I think you just won. With a hand of Serpents, no less – really, I work this hard –”

“– _cheat_ this hard,” Hawke corrected.

“And Fenris still wins?” Isabela gave a disgruntled snort.

“Oh dear,” said Merrill. She revealed her own hand. “These aren’t very good, are they?”

“This card –“ Justice reached out for one of Merrill’s – one of the Knights, he was unsure which and didn’t mind, captivated by the delicately painted image and the looping patterns of blue and purple that swirled and danced across the background. “Anders has played it, I watched through his eyes. The colours are exquisite.”

“They are, aren’t they?” Merrill beamed.

“This is the part where you show your cards,” Hawke said, his foot nudging Justice’s under the table.

“I have not played.” Justice frowned, glancing down at his own hand. “We just arrived – I was handed these, there is no skill.”

“That’s what happens when you show up late,” Varric said. “Come on, Trouble, show them.”

“That’s _not_ what you’re going to call him,” said Hawke as Justice carefully arranged his cards on the table.

“Aww, Hawke – it’s a little funny, you have to admit.”

“I am Justice,” Justice said, laying down his cards. The conversation was hard to follow, the background noise drifting up from the bar downstairs discomforting, but the little colourful rectangles were enchanting. “I do not require another name.”

“He hates it,” Hawke translated.

“Someone less…” Isabela gestured vaguely to herself. “Comfortable, shuffle the cards. Let’s see what _I am Justice_ can do.”

Justice turned his gaze on her, but Isabela seemed unbothered by the blazing stare that tended to leave mortals cowering. She winked, refusing to repent for her mocking impersonation, and braced her heels on the edge of the table to tilt her stool perilously.

Merrill gathered the cards, squeaking and then apologising profusely when her fingers brushed Justice’s. He couldn’t help his unease at the heavy, bloodied weight of the power around her – how could the mortals not feel its oppressive presence? She had been claimed, yet chattered and smiled as she swept the cards together. She reached for Fenris’s and he gathered them up, his lip curling into a sneer as he glanced in Justice’s direction.

“You wish me to play?” he spat. He fixed his stare on Hawke, and tossed his cards in Merrill’s direction. “Very well. I doubt I will get a more appropriate hand, however.”

Justice studied the cards – four of the suit of Serpents. Avarice, Pride, Deceit. Lust. Hawke met Fenris’s gaze but did not react, running his fingers casually through the shaggy mess of his dark hair.

“Odd, how often they are found together, is it not?” Fenris gestured at the cards. “It was often this way in Tevinter. Magisters gathering wealth and power, sick with greed yet always searching for something more. Always hunting for new ways to display their status.”

Merrill shuffled the cards back into the deck, seemingly unware of the uncomfortable way Varric shifted between the two glaring warriors.

“I wouldn’t know,” Hawke said, his flippant tone making Justice’s mind prickle – his true emotions were concealed, a small mortal lie, but an uncomfortable one nevertheless. “Never been all that fond of status.”

“Not for yourself, perhaps.” Fenris scowled at Justice. “Do you think to impress us with the mage’s control over this demon? Tonight it plays cards, and you expect us to forget how many times it has overwhelmed him.”

“I am no demon.” Justice had meant to speak calmly, but Fenris’s accusations against Anders stung far more than anything else he could say. “Anders does not control me – it is balance. It is cooperation. Anders is my host, he is not my master. He is my…”

His next words were stolen by a sudden rush of warm, mortal thought clouding his mind. Anders’ presence was heavy and demanding, and Justice let it wrap around him and gently pull him deeper. Anders’ eyes opened, and Justice saw his glow fade from their – Anders’ – veins.

“Love?”

“He was just getting a little aggravated,” Anders said. “About to start blurting out all kinds of things. Thought I’d save everyone the rant.”

Justice bristled at the deception. It was necessary and he knew it – and knew he could have easily revealed too much. It was a curious and unsettling push and pull – understanding and agreeing with the reason for deceit, yet feeling sickened by the taste of even the slightest implication of dishonesty in Anders’ mouth. The thought that he might be committing an injustice – even simply by choosing not to act – made him dizzy and set the back of his mind prickling. He tried not to think about it.

“And after greed and pride comes deceit,” Fenris said cooly. “Magisters will tell themselves and each other that they have control, and everyone plays along until it is no longer possible.”

“Can you for once at least _try_ to remember the difference between mages and magisters?” Anders scowled, and Justice couldn’t help lending a low, rumbling edge to his voice.

Hawke shot them both a sharp look, and Justice knew he should try to calm Anders, but the talk of control had left him fluttering uneasily, and the reminders of how these mortals saw him set up a deep, aching hurt in the part of him that aligned with Anders’ chest. Of course they did not trust him – they could not see him as Hawke did, he had not allowed it. They had seen him fight – sometimes having to be wrestled back into the depths of Anders’ mind as his fury overwhelmed him. Blood and destruction at his hands, on his tongue, and the stilling touch of Anders’ restraint and mercy the only thing to stay his hand.  They knew he had almost killed Ella, but they did not understand the cause. This had been a mistake.

“I have tried.” Fenris’s indifferent tone gained a hard edge. “Bethany was – is – different. I tried to believe others would be. Yet all I see is weakness and depravity, every arrogant mistake of Tevinter replicated by foolish mages who think themselves different.”

“Another game?” Merrill said brightly.

“Maker, please.” Isabela rolled her eyes and tossed her hair.

“Fenris, can we not have this tonight?” Hawke gathered his cards as Merrill dealt. “I live with Anders, I’d notice if he was practicing blood magic or keeping slaves. It’s a big estate, but not _that_ big.”

Fenris chuckled briefly – however foul his moods got, he always seemed to laugh at Hawke’s jokes. Justice noticed the relief in Hawke’s eyes, and brushed against Anders’ mind to draw his attention to it. Somehow, perhaps, this was working – Justice did not expect or desire Fenris’s approval, but if he could learn to like and respect Hawke again, Hawke would be happy. It was the only reason he had agreed to this  - Hawke’s hurt and the panic that came with it, his fears of discovery and of losing the men he loved. For a moment it seemed the tension had been broken – then Fenris remembered himself, and his laughter stopped abruptly.

“Have I ever told you of the first demon I killed?”

Justice relaxed – cautiously, not forgetting that Fenris considered him a demon. But killing the predatory, corrupt spirits that preyed on mortals was a just cause, and he doubted Fenris intended to attack him here and now. Hawke looked far less comfortable, and Anders’ thoughts were troubled, coiling tight around Justice as if trying to shield him. He nudged back, drawing Anders’ eyes to the cards in front of him as the game began.

“This story better be more fun than it sounds,” Isabela said, as she swept up a card from the deck to replace the one she had discarded. Justice noticed a second card flicked to lay against her palm, and nudged Anders’ mind insistently. Anders stubbornly didn’t react, and to Justice’s horror, he attempted the same trick when play passed to him. Justice sent a pulse of blue through his fingers, and the second card fluttered to the table.

“Andraste’s tits, Justice, really?”

“Ouch.” Varric laughed, flicking through his own cards one handed. “Domestic troubles, Blondie?”

“I had been Danarius’s bodyguard for little more than a year,” Fenris continued, seemingly unconcerned with Merrill’s giggles and Isabela’s playful wagging of her finger as Anders flushed and dropped his gaze to his hand of cards. Justice could respect that – distractions were meaningless. “We attended a gathering…”

“If you say ‘party’, no one’s going to accuse you of having fun,” Hawke interrupted. He glared at his cards and shook his head, before dropping the Song of Parting card into the discard pile.

“I would hesitate to call the political manoeuvrings and unsubtle threats of a group of magisters a party,” Fenris said. “But – yes, there was food, and music and – entertainment, of a kind. I suppose it was a party.”

“Well that doesn’t sound so bad,” Merrill said brightly. “I – oh no, that sounded awful – I don’t mean being a slave was nice or anything. But the way you talk about Tevinter sometimes it sounds as if everyone just – I don’t know, sits at home covered in blood, summoning spirits and cursing their enemies. A party sounds almost normal. I think they’re normal, anyway – I’ve never actually been to one.”

“Next time,” Hawke said. Justice eased forward a little at Hawke’s voice – he seemed slightly more at ease, and shot Merrill a grin. “We’ll get you dressed up and drag you to the gaudiest horror Hightown has to offer.”

“Oh! Thank you, I think.” Merrill’s ears flicked. “You haven’t visited me in weeks, I didn’t expect that! Thank you, Hawke.”

“This better be a group invitation.” Isabela’s eyes followed everyone’s hands as play passed around the table – Anders discarded another card, and Justice grumbled and twitched his fingers as he attempted to slip Hawke’s abandoned Song card from the pile.

“This was not like a Hightown party,” Fenris began.

“Broody, this story of yours? Not catching the imagination,” Varric said. “Need to work on your delivery. And timing.”

“I’ve got a much better story about a party,” Isabela purred. “Not really a party I suppose – there was food, if you count whipped cream – and excellent company.”

“Hawke needs to hear this.” Fenris scowled, and flicked a card into the discard pile, then reached out to draw another. Justice read deception in his guarded features, and tugged at Anders’ mind helpfully. He could not allow his host to cheat, but perhaps he could guide his attention to the deception of others? Anders did not seem to be listening – although his attention was on the scowling elf. “I have seen too much of arrogant fools who become complacent around demons.”

“Ooh, a cautionary tale.” Isabela winked at Hawke. “We should have invited that friend of yours – the pretty one who’s prettier when his mouth’s shut. Prince Preachy. This’d be just his thing.”

“Not a friend, Bela.” Hawke sighed and shook his head, then glanced sideways at Fenris from behind his cards. “So let me guess.” Hawke arched back in his chair. The movement shifted his shirt, and it fell open at the neck. “Blood magic, possessed magister, abomination rampaging through the guests. Someone ended up dead in a tray of appetizers, a rage demon broke a window, a pack of shades tore up the furniture and that’s why you shouldn’t invite a spirit into your home?”

Justice raked his gaze over Hawke’s chest, lingering on the exposed V of chest. It took a few moments to realise it was not his suggestion moving Anders’ eyes – he had taken over control, eyes blazing and his skin cracking with raw blue light moments later. Hawke flashed him a grin, and waved his cards at him.

“Joining us again?” he said, and Justice felt the blunt stop in his voice as he held back from ending with an affectionate _love._

“How else am I to prevent Anders’ attempts at dishonest behaviour?” Justice picked up a card and tucked it neatly into his hand.

“Makers balls, was that a joke?” Isabela leaned forward to punch Justice affectionately on the arm. He growled, his glow intensifying as he turned on her and she threw up her hands with a laugh. “Easy, didn’t know you were so touchy.”

“This is what I have been attempting to…” Fenris snarled.

“Fenris, I get it,” Hawke snapped. “You want to remind me Justice is dangerous. It’s none of your fucking business.”

There was a stunned silence for a moment, broken only by Justice’s fingertips scuffing the rough edges of his cards and by Varric’s sharp hiss between his teeth.

“I’m – getting the impression this is a bit more than the usual mage-rage scream-off,” he said. “You guys need a few minutes to talk?”

“Nothing to talk about.” Hawke threw down his cards, the Angel of Death nestled among them. Justice realised Hawke had been cheating, holding onto the card that would end the game for at least one full turn, and he hadn’t even noticed. Their trust ran too deep, and although he understood it was part of the game, he felt a brief stab of hurt that Hawke had deceived him.

“You are not the first man to consider it harmless to use a spirit to…” Fenris broke off, and glanced at Varric. “To play cards with. To drag out to use as entertainment to amuse his friends and rivals.”

Justice might have missed the implication alone, but Anders didn’t, and understanding hit Justice only a moment later. He felt the heavy chill settle in Anders’ stomach, saw Hawke’s jaw tighten, and a wave of horror hit him, curling his hands into fists and crumpling his cards before he could regain self-control. _He thought…_ the howl of rage and repulsion in his mind was as much Anders’ as his own, and his fists shook as he let them fall to the table. Anders’ mind recoiled as Justice flinched from the shared thought, shuddering and sickened.

“The first demon I killed was a desire demon,” Fenris said, seemingly unaware of the storm building beneath Justice’s skin. “It had been bound for two years, as I understand it – blood magic and enchanted chains, layer upon layer of foul magic that kept it obedient. It was considered _tame._ It was led out, and greeted with applause. Within the hour, it had killed thirty-seven guests and seemed intent on making myself and Danarius thirty-eight and thirty-nine.”

“They were making a Desire spirit play cards?” Merrill said. “Are they very good at that? I wouldn’t have thought to ask.”

“It was a slave.” All eyes turned to Justice, and he stood up, ruined cards digging into his fingers. He wasn’t sure why he was standing – he needed to pace, needed to roar, needed to shatter the table into splinters or sink his teeth and claws into mortal flesh. But when he spoke, he heard none of the anger in his voice that he needed – his deep rumble sounded frighteningly weak and small, just a whisper in this overwhelming, sickening mortal world. “It sought its freedom, and you killed it.”

“It was a demon,” Fenris said.

“You know _nothing_ of demons,” Justice snarled. “I speak the limited words of your tongue and you take it as consent to divide my kind, as if you could begin to comprehend what we are. There are spirits I cannot abide – spirits that seek more than we are owed, that take life, take thought, take everything and then take more. Their actions are unjust and I will not tolerate them. This is not Desire, nor Rage, nor Pride – such emotions are dangerous, they often lead spirits to temptation and cruelty, but they are not evil in themselves. It is a corruption, it is loss of purpose, that makes a spirit something less. A victim of the cruelty of mortals is no demon for seeking only the ability to return _home._ ”

He could feel Anders’ panic – his mind clinging to the lies of the Chant even as Justice’s knowledge and memories flooded through them both. Hawke was on his feet, Varric was pushing himself back with a groan, and Fenris reached for his sword.

“Even if, in their endless ignorance, these magisters summoned what could truly be called a demon – I would take up its cause long before the mortals that imprisoned it in this wretched, unjust world,” he said, voice cracking as his hands fell open and the scorched remains of cards fluttered to the table. “What is this place I have come to? What more is your kind capable of? You enslave your kind and mine, you torture and abuse, there is no justice in this place, and there can be no hope of peace.”

He slammed his palms down on the table. A splinter drove into his palm and he hissed, grounded by the pain even as he flinched away from it. Everything was still so sharp, so intense on the surface – pain blossomed in his head to match the stabbing in his palm, and his ragged breaths burned his lungs. Hawke had pushed his way around the table and his hand was on his back – even now, he was aware of Merrill’s and Varric’s eyes on them and of the deceptive parts they must both play, but his voice was soothing even though Justice was too filled with rage and panic to understand the words. Anders’ mind pressed up against his, trying to understand, to comfort. Justice let himself flow against Anders’ presence, flow into it, coiled tight in amongst his memories as Anders’ mind stroked and hummed and warmed his tangled thoughts.

He sank slowly but eagerly into the safe cocoon of Anders’ mind, letting his host sit down shakily on his stool as Merrill chittered and Fenris muttered and Hawke’s fingers rubbed circles on his scalp. He let himself be comforted from inside and out – and then he heard a voice he did not recognise, and instantly did not trust from the doorway behind him.

“What – in the Maker’s holy name – was _that?_ ”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *updates chapter estimate to ?* this fic has a mind of it's own! Smut is still planned, but it's a couple of chapters away. Have some drama instead :P

Anders looked down at his shaking hands as the jagged lines of blue faded. He could still feel Justice’s raw disgust boiling in his mind as he sat down, knees weak and heart pounding. Although Justice seemed able to explore Anders’ memories at will, it had always been difficult – almost painful – for Anders to attempt the same with Justice’s mind.

It was something close to motion sickness – lurching violently from the safe confines of his own thoughts into chaos no mortal mind had ever been meant to encounter. Through shifting, twisting memories of spirits and the Fade, Anders felt something like solid ground for his mind to brace against. He raced for it eagerly, and a ripple of agony tore through him, stealing his breath. He felt as if he had been torn in half, jagged wounds in his soul, separating thought from thought with precise agony like splinters under his nails. It was a thought that was not his – but it was far beyond the understanding of a mortal mind and existed only as pain and turmoil. He felt Justice try to snatch the thought away, a protective haze of warmth cushioning his mind from the bitter blow, and Hawke’s hand kneading circles on his shoulder.

“What – in the Maker’s holy name – was _that?_ ”

Anders’ panic and Justice’s mingled in a wave of cold dread around his heart. He turned, Hawke’s hand tight on his shoulder, and came face to face with a man Hawke had always been cautious to avoid him meeting. He didn’t need to know his face to know who he was – Sebastian Vael had all the arrogance of a Prince written on his features, and all the judgement of a Brother in furrow of his brow and the curl of his lip. _He saw us –_ the thought sprang from the shared space between him and Justice. _He knows._

“Skin condition,” Hawke said, breaking the tense silence that followed. “Very contagious, really, we should probably all be quarantined. Run while you still can.”

“That – you – you can’t be serious,” Sebastian said, pointing at Anders. “That was some unholy magic.”

“He’s possessed.” Aveline squeezed past Sebastian into the room with a sigh and a shake of her head. “You really do have the worst timing, Anders.”

Hawke stepped forward, placing himself firmly between Anders and Sebastian. Anders couldn’t see his face from where he sat, but he could see Hawke’s hand at his hip, fingers hovering close to the hilt of his knife at his belt.

“Possessed?”

“The situation is – complicated.” Aveline grimaced and sat down. “Not the best way to introduce you to the group – for the Maker’s sake, Hawke, sit down and stop glaring.”

“Nothing you see or hear leaves this room,” Hawke said. Anders could hear the threat in it easily – Hawke’s voice was low and his words were slow and deliberate. “Do you understand me?”

“I…” Sebastian stammered out a few unintelligible syllables. “That is an abomination and you – are defending it? How has it not turned on you yet?”

“You hired me and my people for a reason,” Hawke growled. “Last I checked, the Chantry wasn’t backing your vengeance – you came looking for misfits and criminals, and you found them. Do we have a problem?”

“I merely…”

“Do we have a problem?” Hawke said.

Anders watched Sebastian’s face. His accusatory hand dropped to his side, and his shoulders slumped slightly. It was the last thing Anders had expected, and judging by the twitch of Hawke’s fingers against the hilt of his knife, he’d been ready for a different outcome himself. Anders glanced around and was surprised to see Fenris glaring suspiciously at Sebastian – he disliked Anders, despised Justice, and his friendship with Hawke was strained at best, but they were still his allies. It was the closest Anders had been to comfortable with him in months – if not longer.

“No,” Sebastian said finally. “I – was surprised. I apologize.”

“Andraste’s ass, I didn’t see _that_ coming,” Varric muttered.

“You came to my aid in this city when I had no one else,” said Sebastian. “I – had no intention to impose on you tonight. Your Dalish friend extended sympathy to me after our encounter with Lady Harimann, she asked if I had friends in the city and the truth is – I do not. I am without family and without companionship – and, honestly – I am not particularly good at this.” He ran his fingers through his hair with an awkward smile. “It isn’t my place to judge – I merely serve the Maker, I don’t presume to know his will. You are an honourable man, Hawke – if you trust an abomination then I – I can do my best to do the same.”

Hawke’s hand dropped, and he nodded.

“Leave the Chantry bullshit at the door,” he said. “You won’t find much sympathy to it here.”

“Maker’s breath, Hawke. We’re not all heathens,” said Aveline.

Hawke gave a dismissive snort and shook his head, leaning over to pick up his drink and then perching on the edge of the table beside Anders.

“Merrill?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Did you invite our new _friend_ along tonight?”

“Oh! Well, sort of, I mentioned it’s a regular thing and that we’re all sort of – you know, people who don’t have anyone else. You were so nice to me after I had to leave my people – I know you don’t like the blood magic–“

“She’s a blood mage?” Sebastian cringed as Hawke glared at him again. “And that’s – absolutely fine,” he said quickly.

“But you’ve always been so kind – and respectful, too, you didn’t have to help me when I went to see my Keeper, but you did and I just thought…” Merrill trailed off, and her ears drooped a little. “His whole family’s dead, it just seems so awful.”

“It was a sweet thought, Kitten,” Isabela said. “ _Wasn’t it,_ Hawke?”

“Of course,” Hawke ground out. “You alright down there, love?”

“I’m fine,” Anders replied. He was, more or less – Justice was wary, watching cautiously through his eyes as Sebastian took a seat next to Aveline, but Anders couldn’t quite manage to see him as a threat. He knew he was – if he ran to the Chantry with tales of an abomination in Hawke’s group, it wouldn’t be long before Templars came down on all of their heads. But something about Sebastian’s posture and the uncertainty in his voice told Anders he wouldn’t talk – he was desperate for approval and acceptance, and like everyone who drifted into Hawke’s orbit, he was more than a little awe-struck.

That might change if Fenris did reveal what he’d witnessed in Hawke’s dining room, but Anders thought that if he’d been going to, he would have done it that day. Whatever he’d assumed about Justice’s place in their relationship, his loyalty to Hawke had been enough for him to hold his tongue.

Justice fluttered uneasily at the thought, and Anders turned his attention to the tangled chaos of Justice’s thoughts and fears as the group chatted and shifted around them. He felt more than heard Merrill budge up to let Hawke sit next to him, the warrior’s hand warm and comforting when it dropped to rest on his thigh. _He doesn’t understand,_ Anders thought, willing Justice to hear his thoughts. _He’s wrong, love, we’d never bind you._ Either Justice didn’t understand or it wasn’t enough, and Anders closed his eyes with a frustrated groan.

“You both holding up okay?” Hawke murmured in his ear.

“It’s Justice,” Anders whispered back. Somewhere far away, Varric was offering to buy a round of drinks, and Merrill was brightly asking Sebastian how he’d been, but the words were all a blur. “Fenris really shook him up.”

“I noticed.” Hawke sighed. “Justice, if you’re listening – let us know if you need to get out of here. That éclairs in bed idea of yours is starting to sound like a good one.”

Anders quieted his mind and let Justice ease closer to the surface – not dragging him there, not if he wasn’t ready – but Justice slipped forward cautiously, flowing between Anders’ thoughts and sending a faint flicker of blue through his veins.

“Come on, love, talk to me,” Hawke said softly. His breath tickled Anders’ ear, and Justice came forward in a rush, gasping as Anders let him take control.

“Maker protect us...” Sebastian broke off with an apology, but Justice still turned to him with a warning rumble, and Anders saw Sebastian flinch through Justice’s glowing eyes.

“I am not enjoying this,” Justice said flatly. Hawke could keep his voice low enough only Anders and Justice could hear, but Justice’s voice was as loud and resonating as ever. “Fenris’s accusations towards you and Anders were unjust and ill informed. I did not expect Aveline to be here tonight, and this new mortal cannot be trusted. I do not wish to be here. However, I do not need to leave. This is bearable.”

“Life of the party, this one,” said Isabela.

“Okay, okay,” Hawke said softly. “Another hour – how about that? I want to _try_ to show Fenris I’m not what he thinks – Maker, it’s worse than I thought if he thinks I’d _ever…_ ”

“I know.” Anders felt the warm affection blossom in Justice’s chest. “My distress was not fear – I know you and Anders would never treat me as anything less than an equal. It is – this is not the place to discuss it. But I am better than I was, you need not concern yourself with it.”

Justice shot a glance at Fenris, and although he read nothing in the elf’s tense expression, Anders managed to glean a little more before Justice’s gaze wandered. Fenris looked disgusted on the surface, but there was confusion in his wide green eyes, and he seemed unwilling to meet Justice’s gaze. Was it possible he could accept he might be wrong?

“Another game?” Varric asked, gathering the cards together.

“Depends – do you have another deck?” Isabela tipped her stool back again and pointed with one booted foot at the pile of charred card fragments on the table. “Unless we’re adding a new suit – Ashes. What do you think, worth more than Daggers, less than Songs?”

“I sincerely apologise for my outburst,” Justice said.

“I hadn’t ever thought – you’ve only been a mage for a few years,” Merrill said. “I mean, Anders has had his whole life to learn to control his magic, but for you it’s – well, it must be like being a child.”

“I am not a child.”

“No, but I mean, with the magic.” She tilted her head thoughtfully, and leaned across Hawke to pick up one of the burned pieces of card as Varric hunted around for a second set. “I made such a mess when I was younger – always shooting lightning when anyone surprised me.” She giggled, pressing her fingers over her mouth. “I’m not hard to surprise, if I’m honest.”

“Anders burned down a…” Justice stopped abruptly as Anders pleaded with him to stop. It was a constant struggle when Justice could speak and Anders could not – he seemed incapable of understanding boundaries, and all Anders’ most personal secrets were constantly at the tip of his tongue. Anders gave a frustrated mental sigh, and Justice seemed to understand. “…there was an incident,” he finished.

“I can’t imagine how difficult it must be,” said Sebastian. “The Circles can lift some of the burden from a young mage’s shoulders, but even under supervision, magic is truly a terrifying curse to live with.”

“It is a gift,” Justice snarled, drowning out Anders’ defensive thoughts and the guilty, uncomfortable agreement he felt despite himself. “I am honoured by Anders’ magic – that I am permitted to touch it, to understand the way mortals draw power from my world – I am grateful every day. That Anders has been taught to feel otherwise is a grave injustice.”

“I meant no offence.”

Justice paused for a moment, and Anders felt him consider Sebastian’s words. Then he nodded.

“You did not. I understand compassion was your intent. The teachings of your Chantry have corrupted your ideals. In the Fade, such a change would erase everything you are and remake you into something lesser. In this world, it is more complicated. I accept that.”

“I think what Trouble’s trying to say–“

“…that is _not_ my name, nor the ideal to which I aspire.”

“–is that you’re not a demon, just an asshole,” Varric finished. He grinned widely. “Pleasure to meet you, believe it or not this is what passes for friendly banter around here. Usually when Blondie starts glowing things get a lot messier.”

“ _Varric._ ” There was a warning edge to Hawke’s voice, and Varric fell silent.

“You know, I think I’m going to call it a night.” Isabela uncrossed her ankles and lowered her feet to the ground. “Unless this dick-measuring contest gets a lot more literal, there’s not a whole lot here to keep my interest. You guys really know how to ruin a girl’s night off.”

“Night off from what?” Aveline snorted. “Drinking and stumbling into bed with the first stranger to plant his face in your cleavage?”

“You know what, I–“ Isabela broke off, and wiped the scowl from her face with practised ease. “Absolutely. That’s me. Carefree and full of cock on a nightly basis – got it in one, big girl. What’s the matter? Jealous? Need to find you a replacement Templar before your cunt shrivels shut.”

“Fucking Maker, Bela, easy.” Hawke’s brow furrowed.

“So I’ve been told.” She tossed her hair, and finished the rest of her drink in a gulp. “Nice to see you and Aveline are _so_ close again. I suppose you do have a weak spot for self-righteous and miserable.”

“This hostility is dishonest,” Justice said flatly. Anders heard the words before the thought that accompanied them – the conflict Anders could see in Isabela’s face was impenetrable to Justice, a mess of worry lines and twisted lips as chaotic to his mind as thoughts of the Fade were to Anders’. But he could feel the lies in the way she spoke – in the harsh bite of her words and the haunted flicker in her eyes. She was leaking fear and guilt, and Justice had caught the scent of the truth. “What are you hiding, mortal?”

“Take a wild guess.” Isabela laughed, too high and forced. “We’re all liars here.”

She stormed out, leaving tense silence in her wake. Justice broke it, his fingers gripping the edge of the table until his knuckled whitened.

“I do not understand,” he said. “Mortal communication – lies and anger and friendships based on distrust and cruelty. I have changed my mind. I want none of this.”

Before Hawke – before everything had changed – Justice’s takeovers of Anders’ body had been terrifying. A storm of panic and rage that blotted out the world, blotted out all thought, leaving Anders drifting in the dark before his body was returned to him, shaking with blood on his hands and his body a mess of aches. This was the reverse – all the trauma of a sudden, uncomfortable shift, but this time Anders was dragged forward into his own skin with a sickening lurch. Justice did not so much step back as flee, burrowing deep between layers of thought with a lingering rumble of discontent and the bitter taste of disappointment lingering behind him. He had thought to join the world of mortals – easing into their world step by step, led by his lovers to forget his fears and doubts. Now he knew the truth – he was not like them, and did not wish to be – and he was left in the grey space in between. Anders felt his thoughts as his own, flickering through his mind in a haze of tangled emotion.

“Well.” Hawke’s hand covered Anders’ – wide and heavy and comforting. “I don’t know about you, but I thought that went _spectacularly_.”

“Is Justice all right?” Merrill asked. “Isabela’s been so snappy this week – I do wish she’d tell me what’s wrong but she’s always so mysterious. I’m sure it’s some sort of piratey business – she does have an exciting life. But – oh, I suppose Justice doesn’t care about that if she hurt his feelings – he’s awfully sweet, isn’t he? I know he’s – well, a spirit. Sort of powerful and terrifying, really – but… I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

“Justice is fine,” Anders said, not sure if it was true. He felt no objection, though, so supposed it didn’t count as a lie.  

“Maybe…” Merrill bit her lip. “If this was a bit much for him, you could bring him to see me? Or – well, I suppose you don’t really _bring_ him, he’s always there, but he could talk to me.”

“What happened to _all spirits are dangerous_?” Anders snapped.

“People are dangerous too.” Merrill’s voice hardened and she began to neatly stack the scattered cards. “And some of them are awfully rude.”

“And I thought it was just me that was having the worst week.” Aveline unbound her hair and ran her fingers through the ginger waves with a groan. “Is there anyone here that isn’t in a foul mood?”

“No,” said Fenris.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Varric grinned and took a sip of his drink. “Gossip, drama, threats of violence? Isn’t that what we _do_? Besides, this is a writer’s dream.”

“Ugh, as long as you don’t write about me.” Aveline sighed. “Nothing glamorous about my life – I nearly got my eyebrows burned off in an arrest today.”

“Another apostate?” Anders said. “I’m sorry life as the Knight-Commander’s lapdog isn’t as comfy as you expected. I know it’d be a lot easier for you if we all just lay down and died instead of fighting for…”

“Bandit, actually. And not a mage.” Aveline shot him an infuriating smirk and shook her head. “Tripped me on my arse and I ended up with my face inches away from their campfire. But by all means, don’t let me stop your paranoid shouting, it’s doing wonders for my headache.”

Anders’ stomach churned – his friendships with all Hawke’s companions were strained, but he hated Aveline so much it hurt. His fingers tightened on the table as he took in her smug grin – as if she’d won, as if she’d proved him as _crazy_ as everyone said. As if she hadn’t admitted to arresting apostates on Meredith’s orders months ago.

It was Anders’ discomfort that brought Justice back from the deepest level of his mind, coiling around his thoughts and then – when Anders’ chest continued to tighten – sending a flicker of warmth through his nerves. It was a new skill, and not a precise one – Justice believed in time he could recreate any sensation from Anders’ memory, but for now he made his presence felt in warmth and gentle prickles across Anders’ scalp, similar to the touch of his manifested hands. It was comforting – as comforting as Hawke’s voice as Aveline’s smile slipped.

“He’d have to be wrong about you to be paranoid,” Hawke growled. “Back off.”

“He just…”

“If it had been a mage, it wouldn’t have been the first.” Hawke’s hand tightened on Anders’ thigh – and it was just comfort, Anders knew it and desperately needed the reassuring grip – but with Justice’s fire beneath his skin it felt like so much _more_ , and his breath caught despite himself. “A little distrust for the system is healthy in Kirkwall. Maybe you’ve noticed, the law doesn’t do much for people around here.”

“And maybe _you’ve_ noticed that not all apostates spend their days running clinics,” Aveline shot back. “I’ve never told Meredith a word about Merrill or Anders – even though I _know_ Anders is mixed up in this Mage Underground business, and she’s breathing down my neck for information. Yes, I work with the Templars when I must. As did you, when there were enough deaths to finally get your attention.”

Hawke’s chair clattered against the floor as he rose to his feet. For a moment Anders thought Hawke might hit her, his jaw clenched and hands becoming fists at his side. Sebastian glanced between them with a frown, Varric winced, and Merrill stared up at Hawke wide-eyed.

“That was unworthy of me,” Aveline said finally. “Long day, I didn’t mean…”

“Yes, you did.” Anders curled his hand around Hawke’s fist, and Hawke opened his hand to take his fingers and squeeze them gratefully. “Enjoy the rest of your night. Anders, home?”

“Best idea I’ve heard all night,” Anders said, feeling Justice’s fervent agreement in his mind. It came with another pulse of soothing heat across his skin, and even through his anger with Aveline and his concern for Hawke, Anders couldn’t ignore the way his body responded to Justice’s touch. With the world against them and everything crumbling beneath their feet, the three of them still had each other – comfort, reassurance and desire were all mixed up, and suddenly all Anders wanted was to feel Hawke’s hands on him and to forget everything in the world outside. He had a feeling it was Justice’s thought as much as his – but whoever’s idea it was, it sparked between them. Hawke led them out, down the creaking stairs and through the tight-packed crowd in the bar. His fingers were calloused against their palm, and his grip tightened as Anders’ magic smouldered on his skin.

“Careful, love,” Hawke said as the door swung shut behind them and Anders took a shuddering breath of the stale air of Lowtown. “You’re always hot, but this is getting a little–“

Anders stole the rest of his words – stole his breath, greedily swallowing Hawke’s surprised groan as he crushed their lips together. His back hit the wall as Hawke pushed him forward, ignoring the catcalls of drunks. Anders balled his hands in Hawke’s shirt, moaning against his lips as Hawke’s thigh parted his legs and his hands slid under his shirt to grip his hips. The kiss was urgent, rough and desperate, and Hawke’s moan sounded choked and helpless as he flattened his body against Anders’.

“We can’t - not here,” Hawke gasped, pulling back and bracing one palm on Anders’ chest.

“There’s – an awfully nice alleyway just around the corner.” Anders was panting, he could feel the flush in his cheeks and his unashamed erection grinding against Hawke’s thigh. “Take your mind off things?”

“Maker, that sounds…” Hawke broke off with a groan and claimed Anders’ lips again. His teeth caught Anders’ lip and he tugged hard, leaving Anders whimpering and then stifling his moans against Hawke’s tongue. One hand dropped to knead his cock, the other cupped the back of his head and held him steady as their bodies rocked together and Hawke kissed him hard – as if the world was ending, or as if it had never existed at all.

“I can’t.” Hawke broke the kiss, brow furrowed. He rested his forehead against Anders’, panting raggedly. “Not before I talk to Justice – whatever happened there, I…”

“He wants you.” Anders’ words were barely his, Justice’s intent heavy on his tongue and a tingling in his lips.

“I know. I – fuck, I can always tell – the way you taste.” Hawke licked his lips, and traced Anders’ lip with his thumb. “This didn’t go the way I hoped.”

“We have terrible friends, love – could have been worse.”

“I need to not think about this.” Hawke screwed his eyes shut, and slammed his palm against the wall with a growl as his hand tightened in Anders’ hair. “I never wanted Justice hurt or scared. Or you. Maker, I fucked up. I fucked up, I always fuck up. You two are all I have and I – I was reckless, stupid, I thought I was going to have to kill Sebastian. If he _ever_ threatens you, if he so much as looks at you wrong... and Fenris… I don’t even understand what happened there. I’ve killed demons – spirits – I don’t even know, Justice never told me any of that and – we need to talk. At home. Where maybe I can manage not to endanger anyone else I love.” His voice cracked.

“It wasn’t your fault. Not tonight and not…” It was hard to say aloud, they hadn’t addressed it and the part of Anders that was a healer knew they should. The part of him – the two parts of him, spirit and man – that loved Hawke and didn’t want to see him fall apart didn’t want to ever even think it. “The one time the Templars should have done their bloody job…”

“Yeah, I know.” Hawke’s smile was back, and Anders didn’t need Justice to know there was pain behind it. Hawke deflected effortlessly into humour, wrapping one arm around Anders’ waist as he turned and they headed for home. “Criminally negligent Templars, you should put that in that manifesto of yours. Maleficarum running wild while the Chantry… I don’t know, what _do_ they do?”

“Heal the sick?” Anders deadpanned, and Hawke snorted with laughter.

“Yeah, and shelter refugees. Must have slipped my mind”

“Garrett?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Tonight was a mess, but I meant it, it could have gone worse.” Anders slid his own arm around Hawke’s waist – the urgency of his desire had faded, but he still needed to feel Hawke’s solid, comforting bulk against him. “Thank you.”

“For what, for failing?”

“For trying.”

Hawke’s grip tightened on Anders’ waist, but there was more warmth in his smile – more hope. He might not be truly reassured, but by the time they reached Hightown his step was lighter. The door closed behind them and it was just the three of them – and for a moment, Anders hoped that the disaster of an evening would be forgotten. But the bitter taste of the Fade on his tongue and the tight coil of Justice’s distress reminded him that it couldn’t be – not yet. The pain was still there – it felt as if his soul was being peeled layer by layer, and Anders realised in a sudden, chilly wave of horror that the sensation was a memory – and not one of his. He let Justice spill forward in a blaze of blue as they stepped out into the hallway, and Justice straightened his spine and pulled away from Hawke with a sigh.

“You have questions,” he said. “I believe – it is time that they were answered.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's left lovely comments (on this, and other fics if you guys are reading too!) - sorry I'm SO behind with replies, that's one of my top plans for the weekend if not sooner :P
> 
> For now, here's some Justice. Lots of Justice. Maker, he loves to talk :P

Justice lit the library fire with a wave of his hand – effortless elegance in the curl of his fingers as orange sparks became a roar of flames. Hawke sank into an armchair and Justice followed – no thought of personal space, and Hawke didn’t mind in the least. They were both in need of comfort, and Justice straddled his lap with a sigh, twisting glowing fingers in the front of his shirt and resting their foreheads together. For a moment the only sound was the crackle of the fire. While Justice was unflinching honesty, and Hawke was all deflection – here was the place where they met on equal footing. Words were not enough – deeper reassurance was needed.

“First, I must know that you are well,” Justice said finally. “I cannot unburden myself to you while you suffer – it would be unjust.”

“I don’t think any of us are at our best, love.” Hawke rested his hands on Justice’s waist, wide palms splayed on his narrow frame. “I’m back in denial, it’s working wonders.”

“Aveline’s words were unjust.”

“Justice…”

“They _were._ ” His glow brightened, and he slid his hands up into Hawke’s hair with a low rumble. “I am not a spirit of Forgiveness, nor of Compassion. If you were the cause of Leandra’s death, no amount of love for you could stop me saying so – I cannot lie, and I cannot ignore wrongdoing. You are innocent in this, I promise you.”

It helped more than Hawke had expected – Justice was the closest thing to a higher power he still believed in. His burning gaze locked with Hawke’s, and his words seemed to have weight – all the power he held in the Fade, brought into Hawke’s world, into his heart. Hawke blinked back the tears he’d deny – even to Justice – and nodded, and when Justice dipped his head to kiss him, Hawke relaxed into it with a shaky sigh.

There was longing in Justice’s touch – heat in the way he lazily rolled his hips, but it ran deeper than that. He groaned softly against Hawke’s lips, and his nails dug into his scalp as he clung to him, tense body pressed tight against his chest. Hawke slid his arms around his waist and let Justice melt against him, his skin humming where it brushed Hawke’s. Finally he broke away, and reluctantly dropped his hands to Hawke’s shoulders.

“Clingy night?” Hawke traced Justice’s hipbones with his thumbs.

“More than tonight. But – yes, tonight was hard.” Justice frowned slightly. “I have tried not to speak too much of Leandra – your loss was the most profound, it was not my place…”

“Hey – no.” Hawke squeezed his hips until Justice’s lips quirked slightly. “I’m glad you cared.”

“I did, very much. I have been changed by knowing her – by losing her.” Justice cupped Hawke’s jaw, and brushed his thumb over Hawke’s lips. “And by knowing that I will lose you both, in time. I am not mortal and that is – more difficult than I had expected. Loss in the Fade is different. Not easier, not exactly – but when I was brought to your world I had not thought there would be something of its kind here. And here it is so raw so – so _painful._ When Anders touches memories of loss within me, they scald his mind – the agony is beyond comprehension. But at the time I – I accepted it. I was not Despair, I was only Justice. I endured.” His hand lingered for a moment on Hawke’s jaw, then fell to his chest. “You wished to understand why Fenris’s words caused me such distress?”

“For a moment I thought…” Hawke licked his lips nervously, and swallowed hard. “Love, if me and Anders ever make you feel trapped, or used – you’d tell us, right?”

“I am Justice.” He tilted his head. “Do you believe I would hesitate to condemn you for such an act?”

“You don’t hesitate to condemn me for cheating at cards,” Hawke said with a weak grin. “Fair point.”

“I have never been bound. Not in the way Fenris described.” Justice sighed, and his brow furrowed. “Your mortal language is so – I cannot explain. In the language of the Fade, there are close to one thousand words I can only translate as _bound._ We bind ourselves in trust, in purpose, to time and thought and memory – to mortals, to one another. Some bindings tear down, others build. The binding of a spirit ripped from its home and taken across the Veil at a mortal’s command is perhaps the most violent of all.”

“I won’t pretend to understand,” Hawke said gently. “But it sounds like the difference is choice.”

“Choice is – complicated. But yes. A spirit is a being of will, of intent – when another’s mind controls what we do, it controls what we _are._ Few spirits survive the process able to determine their own ideals. I have met only one that did.”

“And this spirit – you lost him? Her? Them – I’m not sure…”

“It.” Justice tilted his head, and reached out to trace the furrow of Hawke’s brow. “You are – this is distress?”

“This spirit sounds like – it – was important to you.” Hawke cringed – it didn’t feel right. “ _It_ isn’t a way I’d ever talk about another mortal.”

“It would not have been offended by other words, if you wish to choose another.”

Hawke shifted uneasily – that didn’t feel right either. It was times like this that the gulf between his world and Justice’s seemed all the more obvious.

“It was Faith, once. Long before we met.” Justice rolled his shoulders, his tense body beginning to loosen as he softened against Hawke’s chest. “It was summoned – dragged through the mind of a mortal against its will, and released. When it returned, it found Faith was no longer to its liking.”

“And that’s – different from losing its purpose?”

“It _changed._ ” Justice held up his hand, showing Hawke the branching cracks that split his palm. “I wear the skin of a mortal, and I have learned to exist in this form. I fell into your world, and I have shaped myself to exist within it – and within Anders. Fury could no longer exist as Faith – so it found a new purpose, and committed to it completely.”

“Fury.” Hawke watched Justice’s face as he said the word – the title, the _name._ Anyone else might have thought him expressionless, but Hawke could see the flicker in the glow of his eyes, and the tense set of his lips.

“It passed through the dreams of mortals, bringing relief to those who did not desire peace. Not all pain is solved by Compassion, many mortals cling to their rage. It is all that keeps them breathing.”

“I might know the feeling.” Hawke thought of Templars, of Bethany, and of the scars on Anders’ back, and his fingers tightened on Justice’s hips. Justice met his eye, and nodded.

“Yes – I have seen fury in you, and in Anders. I am glad to know that it would have found resonance within your minds.”

“What happened to it?”

“It was summoned once again.” Justice’s voice took on a bitter edge. “It did not return.”

“Maker, love – I’m sorry.” He studied Justice’s face, catching glimpses of expressions that faded before they quite took life. No one but him could read Justice half so well – but he had missed this. He had never thought to ask Justice about his past. Like everyone who drifted to Kirkwall and into Hawke’s life, he had come from loss. “I didn’t know spirits had friends or – lovers? Family?”

“None of those. Our existences are eternal, or close to it – and often solitary. When our purposes are aligned, we sometimes bind our minds to another – for strength, for balance, to accomplish together what we could not do alone. Fury drove me to fight harder for the causes I took as my own, and I gave it structure and meaning, where it feared it would lose control and become mindless – a demon. It was how I thought – how I hoped – things would be with Anders. Mortals are more complicated, it was not the same.”

Justice shifted, fingers tracing patterns on Hawke’s collar. The smooth texture of the fabric whispered between his fingers, and Justice leaned in closer, humming softly as Hawke let his hands slide to the small of his back and held him close. He was strikingly beautiful, the sharp angles of his face lit by the blue light spilling from glowing cracks, his eyes burning and his silky hair slipping loose from its tie.

“Spirits are part of the Fade – they – we – _are_ the Fade, almost. The Fade is everywhere – it is everything. There is – something like time, almost, that flows through it. You are mortal, I apologise – I cannot explain better. Centuries pass at a thought, but moments could last eternity at my command. When we were bonded, we were retribution and glory – we were passion and destruction and we were _change_. The moment of our meeting - the first spark of trust, of shared purpose - it burned at the centre of it all. What we became rippled throughout the fabric of the Fade - backwards and forwards through what you would call time, leaving our mark in every layer of our world.”

“That sounds incredible,” Hawke breathed. It was just a glimpse – but in the echo of Justice’s voice, Hawke could almost feel it. The depth of connection, and the strange world Justice had fallen from and would never truly leave behind.

“It was.” Hawke reached up to brush the hair from his face, and Justice leaned into his hand. “When a spirit leaves the Fade - it is gone. It is gone from everywhere - from every _when_. It tears a hole that cannot close - something is missing. Something has always been missing. Memory is all that stays to fill the void and now - I am gone too. My memories left with me and I do not know what occupies the places that were _us_. I know that I am different. I know that it is gone from this world, as well as mine - if it still existed, I would know it. Mortals would see only a demon and – I cannot say. Perhaps, torn through the veil once more – alone and bound, after everything it had done to resist – that is what it became. The thought is uncomfortable. I do not dwell on it.”

“I had no idea.” Hawke smoothed Justice’s hair back, feeling the flutter of his pulse in his temple. He was out of his depth – lost for words as Justice’s face crumpled briefly, and then the expression slipped away as if it had never been. “Anders never told me.”

“Anders does not – or at least, did not – know. My memories of the Fade are beyond his comprehension – he touched the memory of Fury being torn from me tonight, and can feel it only as agony. In reality it was – it is hard to explain. An emptiness, a wrongness. It was not grief, or pain – these were new to me in your world, and overwhelm me easily. This, I could bear. But I did not seek such closeness again – it was not an experience I wished to repeat. Anders’ mind cannot imagine such a thing – if he were to feel it, I do not think he would survive.”

“You mean if you were separated?”

“Yes.” Justice made a low, distressed hum. “I wish I could talk to him more of such matters. Much of what I show him of my world frightens him – it goes against the teachings of the Chantry, and he fears for his place at the Maker’s side, so he lies within his mind and clings to what is safe. They poured the Chant into him when he was young – used him as a vessel for their lies and however much he struggles, he remains tainted by it. It is as present within him as the taint the Wardens left in his blood, as the scars that mar his back – pieces of a history I would save him from, had I the power.”

“So would I.” There was silence between them for a moment, broken only but Justice’s faint rumble as Hawke’s fingers combed through his hair. “So, summonings and bindings, touchy subject?”

“Yes.”

“Not all demons are actually demons?”

“That is correct. Rage, Pride, Sloth – these are dangerous paths to walk. But within the Fade, when chosen freely, and without intent to prey on mortals - I would not call a being demon for choosing such an existence – not in your tongue, or any other. I – confess, I do not fully understand what allows a spirit to become a demon, to corrupt everything they touch. But when they allow themselves to fall, they are changed forever. They do not have a place in the Fade. They can no longer connect with their own kind. The mortal world consumes them, and they seek entry to it at any cost. I fear them, I pity them, but their unjust acts cannot be ignored. Before I came to your world, I hunted such beings. There is no injustice in you doing the same, if this is what concerns you.”

“You were a demon hunter?” Hawke grinned. “Now that’s impressive. I didn’t really ever think about what you did in the Fade – haunted the dreams of naughty mortals and threatened dire consequences if they underpaid their taxes or ate the last cream cake without asking, possibly.”

“I concerned myself little with mortals – I protected the minds of dreamers when I encountered them, but I certainly did not make threats.” Justice frowned. “Such behaviour would be far more likely from a demon – of Fear, or of…”

“Joking, love. Sorry.” Hawke winced. “Bad timing, as usual. Putting off the inevitable question. This whole – demon or spirit thing. Have I, well, killed anyone I shouldn’t have?”

“I – do not believe so.” Justice shifted uneasily. “There are few spirits in this world, in truth. Those who willingly cross the Veil usually do so to attack your kind, and those who are brought here unwillingly are easily lost to corruption. Even I – Kristoff’s mind, and Anders’, awakened change in me – change I accept, but it has become more of an effort to maintain my purpose. Without Anders’ conviction to guide me, perhaps I would not be as I am.”

“So the spirit Fenris killed…”

“Was probably a demon, yes. Or would have become one, before too long. When its tormentors were dead and all that remained was the taste of blood and flesh caught between its teeth, without the touch of a willing mortal mind to help it find its place in this world, I do not think it would have found the will to stop.” His voice built to a low rumble, and his hands curled into fists in Hawke’s shirt. “In its place, I would not have cared to find restraint. Fenris’s actions were not unjust – I was distressed, and placed more blame on his shoulders than was fair. I will make amends.”

“It’s funny. Or – not that funny, I suppose. But Anders thought he’d made you a demon, when we first met.” Hawke watched Justice’s face, and saw a flicker of pain across his stoic expression. “Are you saying it’s the opposite?”

“Your world contains so much injustice that I choke on it,” he growled. “Justice is possible in the Fade – here, I fear our cause is lost. Anders guides me. Anders shows me hope and compassion and mercy, light in the dark when I long to forget, to tear and burn until there is nothing left. When I feel the lure of Vengeance and Despair, Anders anchors me to our cause. I breathe with his strength, I fight with his conviction. I am bound – from choice, for the rest of his existence, as I had never thought to be again. Our joining was harder than either of us thought possible – but he chose me, and I chose him. We are more whole together than either of us knew how to be apart.”

Justice leaned in close, the raw power of him humming through Anders’ skin. He was a paradox lined in burning blue – strength and intensity in a light, slender body – clinging to Hawke with open vulnerability, even as his skin sparked with untamed magic where his cheek brushed Hawke’s . His face burrowed against Hawke’s neck and his breath was warm and human, his touch gentle, and he rumbled softly when Hawke wrapped his arms around him.

“We chose you,” he murmured against Hawke’s skin. “If you can understand nothing else – understand this. The bond I shared with Fury is the deepest bond a spirit can offer. I had not thought to find its like in your world – but what I have found is deeper still. Not only with Anders, but with you. In all this chaos, I feared I might lose my purpose. This world _will_ change me - it was inevitable from the moment I opened Kristoff's eyes. With you and with Anders by my side, I am less afraid of what will come. Change can be corruption – but it can be strength.” He brushed his lips against Hawke’s neck, over his jawline, his cheek, until they hovered almost touching Hawke’s own lips. Hawke could feel the catch in his breath, the intensity of his stare, and the harsh grip of his fingers curled in his shirt.

“I have made my choice,” Justice said – and closed the distance between them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of blood in this chapter - from scratching, nothing excessively kinky, but I figured it was worth a mention. Otherwise this is _almost_ as vanilla as I intended it to be. Hard to keep these three behaving themselves ;)

Anders’ idea to pull Hawke into an alley behind the hanged man had been a tempting one – but, on reflection, Hawke thought this might be better. The air was filled with steam, the scalding water of the bath lapped Hawke’s skin, and Anders was sprawled back against his chest, the tips of his hair floating in the water. Justice had given way after a last, long kiss in the library, and Hawke had been able to tell what Anders needed even before he admitted it. A distraction would be welcome – but relaxation was needed.

Anders’ hair was getting long – longer than Hawke had ever seen it. He ran his fingers through the floating dark gold strands, and Anders closed his eyes with a soft sigh. His pale skin was turning pink in the heated water, and one long, wiry leg was draped over the edge of the tub. Water dripped from his outstretched toes onto the tiled floor, the candlelight catching each drop as it descended.

“Better?” Hawke murmured.

“Mm. ‘m not thinking. ‘s nice.” Anders twisted his head to the side to kiss Hawke’s chest, then relaxed again.

“I’m sorry about tonight.” Hawke hunched forward and kissed Anders’ forehead. “Next time I have an idea make sure to shout ‘Hawke, stop’. Might have to do it repeatedly, I’m stubborn.”

“Will do.” Anders smiled, and arched with a quiet groan as Hawke slid his hands down his body to wrap around Anders’ waist.

It seemed like a shame to ruin the moment – it was going so well, in exactly the direction Hawke had hoped. Anders was boneless against him, almost purring as Hawke’s fingers swept and kneaded over his body. He’d been rushed off his feet recently – between Hawke, Justice, the clinic and the secret meetings he tried not to let Hawke know about, Hawke wasn’t sure he was sleeping more than three hours a night. But ruining moments was what Hawke _did_ , so he let his mouth loose before he could think better of it.

“So, the demon thing…”

“I…” Anders trailed off, and opened his eyes blearily. “Maker, you’ve got your serious face on. First time I saw that, I thought you were dying. Do we have to?”

“Talk about it? I think so, yeah.” Hawke resurrected his lopsided grin, and skimmed his hands up to trail his fingers over Anders’ nipples. “Make it worth your while?”

“I’m listening.”

Hawke smirked, and encouraged Anders up onto his knees. The water rippled with their movements, splashing against Anders’ back as he leaned forward and draped his arms loosely over the rim of the bath, head thrown forward. Hawke swept his hands up Anders’ back and began to knead down his spine, water falling from his fingers to bead on Anders’ freckled skin.

“You heard what Justice told me?”

“Every word.” Anders rested his head on his loosely crossed arms. “Look – if you put me into the Fade and – mm, that’s good – and asked me to explain the full nature of mortals I’d…” he broke off with a sigh that was almost a groan as Hawke ground his thumb into a thick knot of tension in his shoulder. “I’d struggle,” he said finally. “I’m just saying.”

“So, uh – Justice doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but the Chantry does?”

“Come on, love, don’t.” Anders’ back tensed under Hawke’s hands briefly, but loosened quickly as he twisted and pushed and rubbed. “I can’t – can’t just ignore everything I know. Everything that’s kept me safe – I have to fight demons whispering to me every day.”

“Even since Justice?”

“Ever seen two demons fight over a host?” Anders’ shoulders tensed and a flutter of blue raced over his skin. “ _Not_ calling you a demon, love,” he said aloud. “I just mean, I’ve never seen a spirit in that position before – sorry. Anyway, most demons back off when they sense Justice, but a few of the bigger, pointier ones fancy their chances. If I let them in, they’d tear me to bits trying to force him out.”

“Literally?”

“Ugh, yeah.” Hawke smoothed out Anders’ shudder with a firm sweep of his palms. “Happened at the Circle once – Rage and Envy, I think – some kid, just a kid – he thought…” Anders shook his head. “He was right that the demons would kill each other, just didn’t think about the venue. They had to scrape bits off the ceiling.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Long time ago,” Anders said, and Hawke didn’t need to feel the tightness in his shoulders to recognise that tone. “Justice said himself, spirits are solitary. Demons too, they’re not all that friendly with each other as far as I can tell. I’ve been a spirit healer since I was fourteen, hearing demons whisper to me since I was – Maker, nine? Ten? I’ve probably met as many of them as Justice has, and I can tell the difference. There’s no grey between.”

“You sure that’s not…” Hawke slid his thumbs up the back of Anders’ neck, and he arched like a cat. No better time to risk saying it then. “I mean, the Fade and spirits and all – it’s shaped by what you expect, so…”

“You going to call me a _vessel full of lies_ too?” There was no venom in it, but the defeated tone might have been worse. “I get this from Justice all the time – yes, the Chantry raised me. Do you think I can’t think for myself?”

“I never said that.” Hawke cringed, and stilled his hands for a moment. “Justice loves you, and so do I – I just worry what the Chantry’s put in your head – you’ve got enough weighing you down.”

“I don’t trust the Chantry. I trust the Chant, I trust the Maker and I – I have to believe in _something._ What’s the point, otherwise?”

“I don’t know about point.” Hawke slid his fingers into Anders’ hair and ran his blunt nails over his scalp. “I know the Maker didn’t help my family, and he’s not doing much for the mages in the Gallows.”

“We have to prove ourselves…”

“We don’t have to prove _shit._ ” Anders flinched, and Hawke pulled back. “I’m sorry, love – I – we’re coming at this from different places. If it gives you peace…”

“It doesn’t,” Anders admitted. “But it gives me something.”

“Something’s something.” Hawke hesitated for a moment, but his impulsiveness won out. “What about Fury?”

Hawke watched Anders’ body, looking for signs of distress – he stayed where he was, shoulders relaxed, head down, but he was silent for a long moment. Hawke let his hands drop into the water to roll and knead the soft flesh at his waist, and finally Anders spoke.

“I don’t know.”

“We – don’t have to talk about it. Sorry, love.”

“No, it’s fair. I just…” he sighed and twisted his head on his arms, looking back through a fall of wet hair as Hawke stroked and pinched up over his sides. “I can’t make out much – Justice’s mind doesn’t really fit inside mine, is the best way I can think of to put it. When I think its name I can still feel that awful – whatever it is, that _tearing_. Now I know what I’m looking for there are bits and pieces. It doesn’t – didn’t – feel like a demon but – look, maybe there are _some_ exceptions. I know Justice wouldn’t have bonded with a demon, unless he was tricked but – _okay, enough,_ Justice, I didn’t say you _were_. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to give every lava-spitting Rage demon I meet the benefit of the doubt.”

“You okay?”

“Better than you’d think.” Anders smiled, and shoved a handful of wet hair back from his face. Tiny droplets were clustered over his freckles, and Hawke couldn’t resist leaning forward to gather the last few wayward strands and run his fingers over Anders’ damp skin. “It’s helping Justice to have someone to share it with. He’s prickly when I say the wrong thing, I suppose he’s got a right to be – I know I’m probably not the best for this. He should have possessed you, I don’t deserve…”

“You’re perfect,” Hawke said firmly. “You heard what Justice told me about you. That’s special. You’re special.”

“Thank you. Both of you.” Anders smiled. “This was a bad night, but it ended well. Justice is in a good place right now – and when he’s happy, I’m happy.”

“What happened to Justice is never happy?” Hawke said with a smirk. “Justice is righteous…”

“Don’t.”

“Justice is _hard_.”

“ _Maker_.”

“I’ll stop bringing it up eventually,” Hawke said – and Anders was wrong, Hawke could never have been Justice’s host, because Justice would never have allowed _that_ lie past his lips. “Speaking of bringing things _up_ …”

“Call me paranoid, but I sense another cringe-worthy joke.”

“I wouldn’t say paranoid.” Hawke hooked one arm around Anders’ waist and pressed himself close to his body, leaving the water sloshing behind him as he surged forward. “Suspicious, maybe. But you do tend to be right.” He chuckled, and splayed his hands on Anders’ stomach and thigh as he rolled his hips lazily against his ass.

“Lost my train of thought,” he breathed against Anders’ neck, lips brushing damp skin. “Can’t _imagine_ where I was going with that, certainly not a dick joke. On a completely unrelated note, you look fucking incredible wet and naked.”

“You too.” Anders bit his lip, and his back arched as he moved with Hawke, wet skin on skin. Hawke’s cock hardened rapidly as he ground into the cleft of his ass, and Anders’ breath caught. Hawke swept a handful of dripping blond hair up to pile on the back of Anders’ head and licked the warm drops of water from his skin, and Anders’ low groan in response left Hawke’s thighs shuddering as his hips bucked and he bit back a growl.

“New rule,” Hawke said, panting as he reluctantly slid back, licking and kissing his way down Anders’ spine. “You stay like this forever.”

“Might make – nngh – running the clinic difficult.” Hawke gripped Anders’ hips and pulled him up onto all fours, long fingers gripping the edge of the tub as his ass rose out of the water, skin glistening in the low light.

“To the Void with the clinic.” Hawke dug his fingers into Anders’ hips until he hissed, knees sliding apart beneath the water. Trickles ran down his taut thighs, and Hawke bent to run his tongue along the line of defined muscle on Anders’ inner thigh, up and up until Anders moaned and Hawke’s cheek brushed against his cock, hanging half-hard and heavy between his thighs.

“Justice – ah – doesn’t understand that you’re joking.” Anders’ back arched, and Hawke gripped a handful of his ass with a groan. “Reassure him?”

“Mortal nonsense,” he said with a grin against Anders’ skin. He swept his tongue over Anders’ balls, and as his second hand mirrored the first, he spread Anders’ ass with a low groan. “Back to work, first thing tomorrow – promise.”

He mouthed at Anders’ balls, kneading his ass as Anders panted above him. His thighs were tense, and his cock twitched as it hardened fully. Hawke was relentless – languid swirls of tongue and teasingly gentle sucks as he let his thumb slide between Anders’ cheeks and sweep over his entrance. The urge to rush this was building – it built as heat and tension in his gut, the shiver in his spine, and the flush across his cheeks. He wondered if Anders would ever lose this power – the power to strip him down to raw need with a word, with a look, with one breathy sigh on his knees with water cascading in steady trickles over his shoulders. It had been months since the first time, and even now he couldn’t stop _wanting._ Addicted to the faint salty taste of Anders’ wet skin, the tremor of firm muscle beneath his hands, and Anders’ faint gasps. Hawke’s tongue drifted higher, and Anders inhaled sharply.

“Garrett…”

“I’m wasn’t going to,” he said, and pulled away for a moment. “Sorry – didn’t mean to…”

“I wasn’t going to tell you to stop.” Hawke looked up over Anders’ back, and Anders’ sultry glance over his shoulder made his cock throb below the water.

“Maker, love – you know I don’t expect you to want everything just because I do.” Hawke kissed the small of his back, trying to ignore the voice in his mind screaming at him not to question this, to bury his face between Anders’ cheeks and never resurface.

“Blame Justice.” Anders grinned and raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got his memory of your tongue in his – our – ass. It’s – well, he’s not the only one open to change.”

“Thank him for me.” Hawke grazed his teeth over Anders’ hip with a low groan. “Extensively.”

“Five nights and I can visit the Fade again.” Anders’ head fell back against his arms with a moan as Hawke kissed and nipped down over his ass. “I’ll – pass on the message.”

Hawke smirked at the catch in Anders’ breath as his lips drifted lower. His fingers were biting into Anders’ ass, skin whitening under the pads, red marks left behind as his hands shifted and spread him wider. The soft gold hair on his thighs darkened between them, and Hawke’s thumbs traced patterns in the sparse, wet hair as he swept his tongue down to Anders’ entrance. He felt Anders tense, and hesitated – but the frustrated whine that followed was all he needed to hear. He swirled his tongue over the puckered flesh, and Anders shuddered beneath him with a groan of Hawke’s name.

“Good?”

“Better if you – don’t – stop,” Anders panted, and Hawke moaned against his skin.

Hawke was slow and steady, despite Anders’ increasingly urgent moans. He kneaded and swirled, teasing strokes of hot tongue that left Anders twitching against his lips and clenching his hands against the edge of the bath. He pushed back on Hawke’s tongue, and finally Hawke pressed the tip inside him. Every thrust of tongue, every time his lips broke from Anders’ skin to gasp for breath, Hawke heard the wet, slick sounds of his movements and they seemed to scald through his nerves and race to the tip of his cock. His skin flushed with heat, and his nails dug into Anders’ flesh as the mage keened and his hips jerked.

“Fuck,” Anders gasped – and then louder, shakier, as he slid one hand down to his cock and began to stroke. “ _Fuck.”_

Hawke growled, and the vibration in his tongue drew another shaky cry from Anders’ lips. Hawke wished he could see him – but he could _feel_ him, and it was everything. Anders’ thighs shook, his ass clenched, and Hawke groaned open-mouthed against his ass as he fucked him with his tongue. Every dip and swirl and flick brought Anders closer to the edge, his breath coming rough and ragged in time with the movements of his palm around his cock.

“Don’t come,” Hawke growled, pulling back for a moment. A crimson flush had spread across Anders’ shoulders, his scars stark white against his skin.

“Garrett, please…”

“I’ll let you soon. Promise.”

He bit Anders’ ass – not hard, but enough to leave a pale red mark on the pale skin. Anders’ frustrated cry spurred him on, and he slid lower, biting harder at the backs of Anders’ thighs. One side, then the other, drawing whimpers from the mage as Anders’ cock throbbed in his fist. Hawke soothed the bites with his tongue, his beard dipping into the water as he licked and nipped and sucked as low as he could reach. His own cock brushed his thigh, achingly hard. Hawke groaned against Anders’ skin, sucking the damp flesh until Anders squirmed as he dragged his teeth up his inner thigh.

Hawke’s tongue delved into Anders’ ass again, and he snaked one hand between Anders’ legs to replace Anders’ on his cock. His own neglected length twitched, but he could wait – as long as he had Anders writhing and gasping, rocking back against his slick lips and clever tongue and bucking against his hand, he would be patient. He swept his fingers lightly over the tip of Anders’ cock, and he didn’t know if it was water or pre-come that coated his skin but Maker, the quick, wet sounds of his strokes sounded incredible. He groaned, thrusting his tongue deeper into Anders’ body. Anders was loosening around him, panting raggedly as Hawke worked him open

“I – fuck, Garrett I _can’t…_ ” Anders’ hips jerked, and his cock twitched in Hawke’s fist. Hawke tightened his grip and stilled his hand, and Anders’ hoarse shout would have made him smirk if his mouth wasn’t occupied with taking Anders apart with every flick and kneading swirl of the tip.

He pulled back, and Anders’ frustrated cry stuttered into a moan as Hawke pulled him around and kissed him hard. _Should have asked first,_ he remembered, too late – but Anders was too far gone to care. His tongue met Hawke’s and Hawke growled against his lips, one hand fisted in soaking hair as he dug his nails into Anders’ hip and held him close.

Anders was pinned against Hawke’s chest, grinding helplessly as his cock brushed Hawke’s. Hawke fought the building urgency, his lips moving against Anders’ languidly, with only the barest hint of teeth as he tugged at the mage’s relaxed lower lip. His arms were filled with a tangle of wet, squirming mage, and he was in no hurry to let go – especially when Anders’ hands found his shoulders and gripped hard, faint bursts of static dancing between his fingers.

“ _Garrett_ ,” Anders whined as they broke apart, both breathing hard.

“Want something?”

“More,” Anders breathed. “Of that – of anything…”

“Lie back.”

Hawke let go of Anders’ hair reluctantly, and his ass more reluctantly still. He knelt up as Anders sank back into the water, his shoulders resting against the edge of the bath. His hair hung in dripping strands, clinging to his cheeks and neck, and the flush across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose was matched by his kiss-swollen lips, red and tantalising. Anders bit his lower lip, and Hawke groaned at the sight. Water beaded on his chest amidst freckles and the sparse spirals of his chest hair, stuck wetly to his skin. His nipples were peaked, and as Hawke watched he slid one long, elegant leg from the water and hooked it over the edge of the bath. The disturbed water lapped his thigh, and Hawke wanted more than anything to replace the tiny waves with his hand – to grip until Anders’ peachy skin bruised, to make him wail Hawke’s name as he bucked and writhed under his hands, his mouth.

“Up,” Hawke said.

He hooked his hand under Anders’ other thigh, and lifted him, drawing his lean, beautiful body up out of the water. Anders gripped the sides of the bath, his head thrown back over the rim with a gasp as Hawke pulled his thigh to his chest. Anders’ knee hooked over his shoulder and he felt his toes dig into the thick muscle of his back as he slid both hands beneath the water to grip Anders’ ass and pull him closer. Anders’ body was displayed beneath him – splayed out, chest heaving, the long curve of his throat exposed. And his cock – Hawke groaned at the sight. It jutted up from the water lapping his hips, glistening, dripping, flushed red and twitching against Anders’ taut stomach.

“Maker, yes,” Anders gasped. Hawke grinned – he knew how much Anders loved this – being tossed around as if he was weightless, being lifted, boneless in Hawke’s grip as Hawke gave everything he had and took everything he wanted.

He pitched forward over him, loving the way Anders’ lanky legs tensed and his back arched up, presenting the lean length of his body to Hawke’s lips. He couldn’t resist the firm buds of Anders’ nipples any longer – he captured one with a growl, and sucked hard until Anders’ gasps broke into whimpers. When he rolled it gently between his teeth, the moan Anders let out in response was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard – stripped bare by pleasure, and still chasing more.

More, he could give. Hawke descended Anders’ body, lapping cooling trails of water from his skin, chasing trickles over planes of muscle, the rise and fall of ribs, down to the dip of his naval. His tongue darted into the indent, and Anders’ breathless laugh became a moan as his lips moved lower. He followed the trail of wet, dark hairs into the coarse curls at the base of his cock, feeling the hard length brush against his cheek.

When he took him into his mouth, Hawke felt as if he had waited an eternity. The head was hot against his lips, bitterly salty when it met his tongue, and the shaft stretched his lips taut as he slid down the throbbing length. Anders tried to thrust, but he was helpless in Hawke’s grip. Bathwater pooled in the hollows of his hips, in the dip of his stomach, and when Anders’ arched and his chest strained, it spilled from him in steady streams. Hawke controlled the rise and fall of his hips, gripping his ass firmly as Anders’ toes scuffed down his back and his heel drove into him as if to lock him in place. Hawke could feel Anders’ other thigh tensing rhythmically against his cheek as the mage struggled to drive up, panting between low moans as Hawke sucked hard, licked softly, and moved with agonizing gentleness.

“Fuck,” Anders groaned. He ran one hand up over his face to sink fingers into his own hair, and Hawke matched his groan with one of his own, humming around Anders’ cock as his tongue flickered and danced over the head.

Hawke could take him deeper easily – but tonight he wanted to tease and taste. He moved in shallow bobs, working the head of Anders’ straining cock with his lips and tongue. He swept over the leaking slit, relishing Anders’ sharp hiss of pleasure, and with every firm suck he let his lips slip almost off the tip, caressing the sensitive flesh until Anders was trembling with the intensity of it. He tasted the cresting wave of his pleasure in the spill of pre-come on his tongue, he heard it in the high crack in Anders’ last, long moan, and felt it in the judder in tense thighs surrounding his head. Hawke’s cheeks hollowed as he drew Anders’ shaft between his lips once more, and as the flat of his tongue brushed the underside of Anders’ cock, Anders came with a shuddering moan, spilling into Hawke’s mouth.

Hawke moaned, swallowing eagerly as the thick fluid spurted over his tongue. His eyes fell closed and he lost himself in the moment, in the taste – in Anders’ jerking hips and throbbing length still buried between Hawke’s stretched lips. He worked Anders’ cock through the last pulses of his climax, and Anders’ breathless whine left him aching to be touched. One last teasing kiss of the tip left Anders panting, and Hawke opened his eyes to smirk up at Anders’ flushed face as he bit his inner thigh with a growl.

“Worth the wait?”

“Mm – always.”

Hawke lowered Anders back into the bathwater – it was cooling now, still warm but no longer steaming, and Anders reheated it with a lazy twist of his fingers and a burst of magic that Hawke could taste in the air, and on his lips when he covered Anders’ body with his own and kissed him hard. Anders’ stifled moan hit his tongue and he swallowed it along with the remnants of his taste. He pressed his body to Anders’, water splashing around them as Hawke curled an arm around Anders’ waist, settled between his splayed thighs, and stole his breath with flicks of tongue and the slow glide of lips on lips. Anders’ hands were in his hair, his back was arched, and his cock was still enticingly rigid when Hawke felt it pressed against his belly. A nip and a growl left Anders panting, and Anders’ own firm suck at Hawke’s lip reduced him to a shaky gasp of his own.

Hawke’s lips drifted to Anders’ jaw – quickly rubbed raw by the short stubble, but he didn’t care – couldn’t care. He nipped along the sharp jawline, fingertips rubbing circles on Anders’ lower back as he braced his other hand on the edge of the bath, his bulk crowding Anders in, pinning him down, as his teeth closed on his earlobe.

“Maker, yes,” Anders gasped.

“I want to taste – all of you,” Hawke groaned against his ear. His tongue chased trickles of water down to Anders’ collarbone, and another sharp bite drew Anders’ body taut like a bow – arched and panting as Hawke drifted lower.

Every shift of their bodies rocked the water in the bath, splashing against flushed skin, trickling down Anders’ leg to spill onto the floor. Anders’ chest broke the surface, and Hawke’s lips met it, kissing a burning trail down his sternum, grazing his teeth over the sharp ridges of ribs, and once Anders was begging, biting his lip and keening – Hawke swirled his tongue around one stiff nipple.

Hawke grinned at the way Anders’ body jolted – as if hit by a burst of his own electric sparks. The hand that clenched in Hawke’s hair was humming with barely held back power, and as Hawke flicked the tip of his tongue over the stiff peak, a rogue spill of sparks danced over his scalp and down the back of his neck, barely sharp enough to sting. The faint pain and sharper pleasure seemed to race through his nerves directly to the tip of his cock, and his hips jerked against nothing as he sucked hard, and harder, until Anders was whimpering and the scatter of sparks became a steady stream.

“You love that, don’t you?” Hawke groaned. He pulled back, smirking in satisfaction at the sight of dark tint to Anders’ skin – he’d been just rough enough to leave his mark. He’d never been a jealous man, but there was something appealing in knowing Anders wore his claim in bites and sucks and scratches beneath his clothes.

“Y-yeah,” Anders panted. He traced damp swirls on Hawke’s broad back with his toes, and slid lower in the water with a contented smile. “Always have. Used to have rings in them – that was _fun._ ”

“Yeah?” Hawke looked closer – and couldn’t’ believe he’d never noticed before Tiny dimples marked Anders’ nipples on each side. He thought he knew every scar, but these were so small, so neat, they’d escaped his attention. “Why used to?” He glanced up with Anders with an exaggerated pout.

“They were solid gold.” The pause made Hawke think Anders expected that to be explanation enough, and he looked at him questioningly. “The refugees in Darktown are starving, Garrett – Justice couldn’t ignore that. _I_ couldn’t ignore that.”

“And now?” Hawke dipped his head and pressed a feather-soft kiss to one nipple. “We pour money into Darktown, and you work yourself half to death healing them. Think you’ve earned a few luxuries?”

“I get plenty.” Anders ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “It’d be fun to have them back but, I don’t know. Believe me, me and Justice guilt ourselves and each other over our life here enough as it is. The food alone – Maker, you spoil us.”

“You deserve it.” Another kiss – this one between Anders’ collarbones, and Hawke couldn’t resist tickling the sensitive hollow with his tongue to make Anders squirm. “I’ll be very, very sad if I have to stop. Devastated. Now, is there any justice in that?”

“This mortal trickery is deceptive and manipulative.”

Hawke’s breath caught – the changes had become so smooth he barely felt them – a hint of tension in the air like the moment before a thunderstorm, a building of heat and a tingle that left his hair standing on end, and blue split Anders’ skin and Justice spilled forward. His voice was rough, but his touch gentle, and his fingers hummed as they brushed Hawke’s cheek.

“Maybe a little,” Hawke said with a chuckle. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t love him with piercings though? Something to grab and pull ‘til he’s shaking?”

“I would love him equally with or without adornments,” Justice said, his brow furrowing.

“Worded badly, sorry.” Hawke slid up Justice’s body to kiss his cheek, lips against one glowing crack that made his teeth ache and flooded his mouth with the taste of bitter lyrium. “I mean, I think you’d have fun with them too.”

“Undoubtedly.” Justice looked thoughtful for a moment. “You will not spend an excessive amount?”

“The bare minimum.”

“And you will wait until – an occasion of some kind? A time when you would have felt obliged by social convention to purchase a gift?”

“I’ve got one in mind,” Hawke said with a widening grin.

“Then perhaps it can be permitted.” Justice ran his thumb over Hawke’s lips with a low rumble. “Anders remembers the sensations vividly – of the moment the needle broke his skin, of the pain and pleasure, of the healed piercings and how his skin sang when they were tugged and twisted, how Karl…”

“Love,” Hawke said gently. “I think Karl memories are private.”

Justice nodded, and fell silent. Hawke saw the flicker of conflict over his expression – Justice had bared his soul to Hawke, tonight more than any other, and still Anders held back. Hawke didn’t mind – Maker, if he had a past like Anders’ with Karl he didn’t think he could have even thought about it without falling apart, never mind talking about it. But Justice didn’t understand the blurry line between privacy and deception – Hawke had little doubt that if he’d asked the right questions, leaned on the right sore spots, Justice would have told him about Fury the first day they met. It wasn’t in his nature to close off from pain – everything he felt, he felt on the surface, blinding and burning until agony was purified in his clean, blue light.

“Hey,” he said softly, and shifted until he was straddling Justice’s hips, both hands resting lightly on the sides of his neck. “Little mortal things worth learning – we can be secretive sometimes. It’s okay – I don’t mind. You won’t find many mortals who do.”

“And those who do?”

“We call them nosy–“ Hawke kissed his forehead “–fucking–“ he kissed the tip of Justice’s nose, and Justice’s surprised huff of breath was almost a laugh “–pricks. And you can tell them so, if they ask Anders anything he wants to keep private. Want to practise?”

“Absolutely not. Personal insults are not an essential part of mortal culture, and I will not participate in such…”

But Hawke’s lips were moving lower, hovering so close to Justice’s own, and Hawke’s broad body was blue-lit and soaked. Justice may come from another world, but he was in Hawke’s world now – and Hawke knew him well enough to know that there were temptations he could not resist. Justice’s nails felt like claws when they sank into Hawke’s shoulders, and his lips burned like lyrium when they crashed into Hawke’s own. There was a snarl on his tongue and Hawke responded with a moan that became a whimper when Justice’s nails raked his back raw. He sucked his lip hard, and Justice’s ragged rumble left Hawke’s cock aching and heart pounding – this was a spirit beneath him, a being beyond his understanding, and he had chosen Hawke – he had chosen this. Justice’s nails dragged lower, raising welts that Hawke would wear with pride, and when they sank into the flesh of his ass Hawke’s hips jerked helplessly, grinding his ass on Justice’s thick, rigid length. Beneath the water their wet skin slid together like satin, and Hawke felt every throb of Justice’s pulse in his shaft as it was thrust into the cleft of his ass.

Hawke rose up onto his knees, breaking the kiss with a gasp as he straightened up. Justice’s lips looked bruised – lit from within in blue as he gazed up over Hawke’s body, hungry gaze taking in every inch. The water stopped at the thickest point of Hawke’s thighs, and his tanned skin dripped as rivulets cascaded down his body, twisting between the coarse dark hair. Justice’s hands drifted to his thighs, squeezing hard enough to bruise as Hawke rolled his shoulders back with a groan, and one of his hands slid into his own hair to hold it out of his eyes. The movement pulled his body taut, every muscle defined, and although he’d never thought of himself as vain, he couldn’t resist holding the position long enough for Justice to drink in the sight. The spirit’s breath caught, and his fingertips dug into Hawke’s flesh as he growled, panting raggedly.

“Your body fascinates me,” Justice said. “I know every inch – as well as I know Anders’ and yet – I can never know enough.” He squeezed harder, and Hawke hissed at the pain of the bruising pressure. “I could watch you move for days.”

“Then watch,” Hawke purred. He leaned over and snatched a bottle of oil from the shelf, and when he looked back at Justice he had drawn his lip between his teeth and his burning eyes were hooded with desire. “And – keep doing that,” he groaned, flexing his thighs in Justice’s grip. “I want bruises.”

“Then I will give you what you desire.”

Hawke slicked two fingers, and kept his eyes locked on Justice’s as he reached behind himself, teasing his entrance. His lips parted, his breath was hoarse, and he groaned Justice’s name as he slowly pushed inside himself.

He focused on Justice as much as on preparing himself, holding his fingers still and riding them with steady rolls of his hips. He canted to the side, arched his back, and tugged his own hair – and as he drew his lower lip between his teeth and worried it with a low moan, he heard Justice’s urgent growl. Justice’s grip moved to his hips, and Hawke yelped at the sudden bruising ache as Justice dug his fingers into his hip bones and held him tight. Hawke’s hips rocked – backwards and forwards against the dig of Justice’s thumbs, thighs working the water into waves as he drove himself down on his own fingers, his chest heaving as he threw his head back. A third finger, and he rocked forward, wet hair falling over his face as he panted and looked down at Justice with a shaky moan.

“Enjoying – _fuck –_ the show?” he groaned.

“You are Desire,” Justice said. “You are Valour, and Rage, and none diminish the others. It is – such complexity, such chaos. All this, and there is Justice in you too.”

“Mm, not yet.” Hawke grinned. “But I’m almost ready.”

The corner of Justice’s mouth twisted, but he didn’t laugh – not quite. His hands gripped Hawke’s ass, bruising him again as he spread him wide. Hawke withdrew his fingers and wrapped them around Justice’s cock, and Justice’s moan sank into Hawke as a shiver down his spine, caressing him like fingers on his scalp. The sounds he made were beautiful, and Hawke thought there might be a little of Desire in Justice too – and for the first time, the thought didn’t scare him. This wasn’t corruption – this was change – all three of them were facing a future together, whatever it might bring.

Hawke paused only to pour more oil into his palm and Justice arched out of the water to let Hawke slick his length. There was a moment of fumbling – Justice’s feet slipping on the bottom of the bath as Hawke fell forward over him with one hand braced on the rim of the tub, face to face and panting as Hawke lined Justice’s cock up against himself. He grinned, water falling from his hair to splash onto Justice’s face. It beaded and caught the light, droplets sliding over branching cracks of light as Justice gave a low moan, his hips jerked, and Hawke sank down onto his cock with a gasp of his name.

They sank into the water, bodies joined, and the ripples they stirred broke against Hawke’s waist as he flattened his palms against Justice’s chest and knelt, panting, impaled on his thick shaft. The sweetness of the burn stoked fire in his veins, and Justice’s fingertips sank into the back of his thighs, urging him into the first slow, teasing roll of his hips.

“Yes,” Justice groaned. “More of this – please…”

“I – love it when you beg,” Hawke murmured, lowering himself over Justice’s slender body. “You’re going to tell me that’s – nngh – not what it is, I know…” He groaned, rocking his hips again, and Justice’s raw cry mingled with his as their bodies moved slowly together.

“Perhaps – I am reduced to it,” Justice said, blue eyes widening as Hawke ground down on his cock, taking every inch with a moan and a sigh. “You are exceptional.”

“What happened to – never submitting?”

“I am entering a time of change.” Justice’s nails dug into Hawke’s thighs, and bruises became stinging welts. “Who can say – what will become possible – in – in the months to come?”

Justice’s harsh breaths broke his words, broke his moans, and soon neither could speak. The bathwater splashed and rocked around them, wet heat stroking sensitive skin as Hawke rose and fell on his knees and Justice’s hips jerked up to meet every descent of his ass. They were unhurried – for all the urgency in their touch, the desperation in Justice’s growling moans and Hawke’s breathless gasps, neither quite broke. Hawke fell against Justice’s chest, faces almost touching as he slid his hands into Justice’s hair and held him close. Justice’s grip on his waist would leave its mark, and he rode him hard, panting hoarsely. Justice’s shaft plunged into him, leaving him stretched and aching for more.

“Faster,” Justice moaned.

Hawke brushed their lips together – a tease that drew a growl from Justice. He was blindingly bright this close, his glow intensifying with every descent of Hawke’s hips, and the water that lapped his shoulders reflected his light, glowing like the Fade itself as Hawke finally gave in and their lips met.

Justice’s hand slipped between their bodies, and Hawke moaned against his lips as Justice’s other arm snaked around his back to grip his shoulder and lock him in place. He drove up into him, and Hawke slammed his ass down to meet every thrust – there was balance in it, the dig of Justice’s teeth into his lip and the power in his thrusts matched by Hawke’s bulk forcing him lower in the water and his low growl as he took Justice’s cock hard and deep. There was push and pull in every flick of tongue, every drag of nails, every moan and gasp and snarl as they clashed against each other, held each other close, pain and pleasure and the deep, penetrating ache of intimacy and trust when magic flared in Justice’s palm. He wrapped it around Hawke’s cock – and Justice may have begged first, but it was Hawke who pleaded now, trembling and gasping against the soft lips that never fully broke from his.

“Come,” Justice growled against his mouth, his breath hot, his hand hotter as a flood of tingling sparks sank into Hawke’s twitching length. “Come for me, love – now, please, _now_.”

Hawke’s hips bucked beyond his control, caught between Justice’s thrusts and sparking, tingling fingers that swept over the head of his cock. It was so good it hurt, white-hot pleasure sinking into his flesh and quickening his breath. His eyes fell shut, his hands curled into tight fists in Justice’s hair, and whimpered helplessly against the slick press of lips and sweep of tongue that carried him over the edge. His choked cry was muffled against Justice’s lips, and he was boneless in his arms as he came, hips jerking, thighs trembling, spilling over Justice’s hand.

Justice moved him effortlessly – Hawke felt weightless as Justice turned them over with a growl, water sloshing over the side of the bath to crash against the tiles as Hawke’s breath was driven from his lungs by the impact. Justice held him down, one hand on his shoulder, the other balled in his hair, and he began to thrust. All Hawke could do was melt beneath him, his fingertips digging into Justice’s narrow hips as he was pounded into incoherence. Every flickering, burning aftershock was wrung from his straining body, leaving him biting his lip bloody between groans of Justice’s name. Justice’s hips splashed against the surface of the water, Hawke blinked as droplets caught in his eyelashes and splattered on his lips. Justice’s arms shook and his nails dug into Hawke’s skin – his breath was quick and rasping, every moan a growl as he rumbled continuously, low in his chest, hunched over Hawke and putting all his strength, all his need, into every slam of his hips.

“Love,” he gasped. “Garrett…”

A flicker ran through his glowing cracks – a brief dimming, and a flash of warm amber in his eyes, and Justice’s voice cracked into a helpless whimper.

“Anders?”

“He’s – he’s in my mind, my nerves, my – my everything. I…” Justice shuddered, and another hard thrust shifted Hawke along the bottom of the tub. “Is this – is this what I do to him? It’s so _much…_ ”

“That’s it,” Hawke groaned. He reached up to cup Justice’s cheek, pulling him closer as his body tensed and another shaky moan tumbled from his parted lips. “That’s – fuck, Anders, make him scream.”

Hawke ran his thumb over Justice’s lips, tightened his thighs around his waist, and he felt the full-body shudder that shattered Justice’s control. There was a roar in his throat, but it was a wail by the time it breeched his lips, and his eyes screwed shut, blue fire glinting through his lashes as his face contorted and his lip curled. Justice’s hips snapped against Hawke’s ass, stuttering as his thighs shuddered and his nails raked down Hawke’s chest, leaving blood spiralling through the water like smoke. His cock pulsed inside him, and Hawke moaned at the hot flood of come he felt inside him, adding a slick glide to Justice’s final, shaky thrust.

For a long moment, the only sound was twin shaky breaths – deep, heavy gasps echoing in the tiled room, along with the steady drip of water against tiles. Justice fell against Hawke’s chest, shoulders heaving as his glow flickered and his arms wrapped tight around Hawke’s body. Hawke grimaced as his spine ground against the unyielding surface, and Justice shifted to allow Hawke to prop himself up and turn Justice to lean back against his chest, surrounded by his thick thighs. The light brown skin was crossed with deep red marks from Justice’s grasping hands, and Hawke could almost see the bruises that were sure to form later. He smiled, and pressed his lips to Justice’s shoulder.

“Feeling better?”

“Much.” Justice shifted against him, as stiff as ever – but learning to relax. Hawke could feel the shift in his shoulders that hung right on the edge of relaxing, and his eyes were half closed as he eased back against Hawke’s broad chest. “Until tonight I had not truly realised what a gift it has been to be listened to – to be truly heard after years of silence.”

“You mean when you possessed Anders? Back when you two were…” Hawke tried to think of a tactful way to say ‘fucking terrible for each other,’ and failed. “You know.”

“Yes. And before – Anders spoke to me when I existed within Kristoff, and I had others I considered friends – but even then, I did not know how to – it is difficult to explain. How to be close to mortals? How to connect with your kind. I felt so distant, and did not wish to be otherwise.” He wriggled, and Hawke took the hint and wrapped one arm around Justice’s chest. “This is preferable.”

“Even though the mortal world is full of injustice?” Hawke swept Justice’s hair out of his eyes. “That seemed to get you down earlier – I was worried, love.”

“Because of it.” He tilted his head back to look up at Hawke, and Hawke kissed his forehead. “Alone, I would be overwhelmed. This world is beyond my ability to fix – I will see the mages freed, but there is so much injustice, so much cruelty, so much mindless, hopeless suffering. I could live a thousand mortal lifetimes and still find new cause to fight. At a distance, it seems hopeless. When I see you, and Anders – when I think of the relief Anders will feel when he and his kind is no longer hunted, of your joy when I lead your sister from the Gallows and return her to your side – I see that it does not matter that I cannot save your world. And I am reassured.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one! Thanks for your patience with my incredibly slow updates on this one <3

Mortals slept – but Justice did not.

Hawke’s estate was a more comfortable place to not sleep than most. He lay in the comforting tangle of Hawke’s limbs, warm skin and coarse hair crushed against him. It was odd – the sensations might have irritated him in a different context, but here they were simply Hawke. They were comfort – they were protection. It was rare that he felt vulnerable in the mortal world – he could destroy most who would threaten him or his mortals with ease. But tonight had reminded him of the threats he could not fight, and for once, he was as glad as Anders for Hawke’s bulk at his back and his sword mounted on the wall, gleaming in the last orange flickers of firelight.

A warm, slightly damp breath against Justice’s chin reminded him that Anders and Hawke were not the only mortal creatures in the bed. He looked down to meet Macaroni’s intent stare, and the slobbery mabari raised his eyebrows and gave a quiet – but excited – huff.

“Silence,” Justice rumbled. “They are sleeping.”

Macaroni licked Justice’s nose, and he dried it with the back of his hand with a sigh. Macaroni wriggled closer, stubby tail a blur as he pressed closer to Justice’s chest, and rolled onto his back with a pleased-sounding grumble that reminded Justice of Hawke when he woke too early, or slept too late. Anders would object to Macaroni’s presence when he awoke, and Justice was torn between ordering the dog away for his host’s comfort, and enjoying the company that was offered. He decided Anders might not mind too much, and was more than capable of ordering Macaroni off the bed once morning came. He wrapped one arm around Macaroni’s chest and buried his face in soft fur, enjoying the quick beat of the dog’s heart under his palm and the happy snuffles of a wet nose pressed into his hair.  

The night passed easily, if not quite quickly. Hawke mumbled Justice’s name affectionately under his breath at some point – Justice was unsure of the time, but the fire had burned out and the moonlight from the window had been replaced with the soft grey touch of early dawn. Macaroni dozed, waking occasionally to paw at Justice for attention, or to slobber into his hair and snuffle at his ear. He was surrounded by the warm, messy chaos of mortality on all sides – and it was the closest Justice ever came to knowing real peace.

He thought of Fury, at times – of Anders’ confusion and his struggle to contain his instinctively hostile reaction. Justice was hurt by the thoughts Anders tried to hide from him – but the hurt was outweighed by his gratitude that Anders was trying, for all his fear and doubt. Whatever else he believed, Anders knew Fury mattered to the spirit who shared his mind, his skin, and his bed. He would listen, and he would try to understand.

As for Hawke – Justice gave a low pleased rumble at the memory of Hawke’s response. Hawke wanted to learn about Justice’s world – he was as curious about spirits as Justice was about mortals. Anders might think Justice would be better off in Hawke’s mind, but in truth, Justice would not have changed a thing. With Anders, the push and pull within their mind resolved most arguments before they fully formed – their intent bled together, and they grew from it. They were each other’s balance, completing what the other lacked with perfect symmetry. Hawke was a kindred spirit – and Justice realised that if he were mortal, Hawke was the type of man he would wish to be. Anders was exceptional, but he had gentleness in him Justice did not quite know how to want for himself, however much he admired it. Hawke was curiosity, and passion, and protection. He was blood and fire with an open heart and open mind.

Morning came, and as it always did, it brought impatience to Justice that he wished he could control. His discomfort tended to wake Anders early – and sure enough, Justice felt Anders’ mind begin to seep back into his own, pulling away from the edge of the Veil to ease back into the waking world. He stayed on the edge of sleep, and Justice tried to draw on memories of Anders’ patience to keep him there. He thought of patients who worked with healing wounds, and Anders explaining time and time again that they needed rest – all the while denying it to himself. He thought of Anders meeting Bethany, and spending hours helping her deepen her control over her powers as a healer, of his pride when her skills grew. He thought of Hawke, and the jokes he told and told again, and Anders laughing even as he rolled his eyes. Anders had patience in him, and Justice knew that he must too – he found it, and Anders slept on.

A knock at the front door shattered the silence.

Anders woke instantly, a flood of fears catching Justice off-guard and pitching him into panic along with his host. Their heart was pounding, their skin clammy, and their mind was a tangle of half-images and jagged thoughts as Anders – or Justice, or both of them – sat bolt upright with a gasp. _Templars. Sebastian told – Fenris told – someone…_

“Love?”

The knock repeated, and Anders flinched. Their skin was still glowing, but Justice could feel Anders taking control, needing to be grounded in his own body, needing control of himself to run or fight when the moment came. Justice fought through his own fear to run a pulse of warm through Anders’ jangled nerves, and he – they – took a long, shuddery breath and clenched long fingers in the sheets.

“Sweetheart – Templars don’t knock,” Hawke said. He sounded more worried than he wanted to admit, but he smiled, and Justice nudged Anders to smile back. Hawke’s words from the night before had stuck with him – performance of emotion could summon the real thing, and Anders’ weak smile lit a tiny spark of reassurance in his chest.

“Were you expecting anyone?”

“No.” Hawke swung his feet onto the floor and stood, scratching the back of his neck with a groan. “I wouldn’t invite anyone this obscenely early – probably someone with a problem. Help her, kill him, find my missing trash – the usual shit. Go back to sleep.”

“I – honestly, until I’m sure…”

“Okay,” he said. He found his trousers and tugged them on, his lips thinning slightly as the heavy pounding on the door repeated. “Orana?” he yelled. “Bodahn?”

“Sorry, messere!” Orana called back, and Hawke laced his trousers quickly. He could hide his own panic from Anders, but Justice could almost taste the faint edge of deception in every carefully casual move – and they both noticed him taking the time to pick up his belt, along with the small knife in the sheath that hung from it.

Hawke padded out onto the landing, and Anders remained with Justice humming through his skin, wrapped in the sheets and biting their lip as the door was unlatched. Orana’s polite greeting seemed an unlikely response to Templars, but Anders stayed tense. The sound of footsteps in the hall was soft, not the heavy clank of metal armour, but Anders’ hands stayed balled into fists. It wasn’t until Hawke poked his head back around the bedroom door, blinking sleep from his eyes and shooting them both his lopsided grin that Anders’ breath settled, and his heart slowed.

“No Templars,” he said. “Just Fenris.”

***

 _Just Fenris,_ Hawke thought, as he led the scowling elf into the kitchen and gestured awkwardly at the table and chairs. Fenris sat, drumming his fingers on the rough oak, eyes narrowing in the golden beam of sunlight that filtered through the high windows. Hawke hovered for a moment before joining him. _Just Fenris. What’s the worst that can happen?_

“Varric suspects something worthy of gossip,” Fenris said eventually. “Last night’s ridiculous display was indiscreet – if you wish to keep this – whatever this is – a secret, you will need to be more cautious.”

“Do you care?”

“No.” Fenris ran his thumb along a ridge in the wood. “You care. About my opinion – about the wellbeing of this demon – about far too many things.”

“He’s not a demon.”

“That, I cannot accept.” He sighed. “I made assumptions about what I witnessed. I am willing to hear the truth, if you wish to tell me. Whatever else it is, the – _Justice_ does not strike me as dishonest, and its anger and disgust were…” his face twisted. “This is difficult.”

“If you don’t admit you were wrong, I won’t hold it against you.” Hawke grinned.

“I was not _wrong._ Bound demons are dangerous. Unbound demons – or spirits, if you prefer – are surely even more so. It will turn on you, or Anders, if its purpose demands it.”

“But?” Hawke studied Fenris’s face. “Please tell me there’s a but.”

“There is.” Fenris was silent for a moment, and threaded gauntleted fingers through his hair with a frustrated growl. “You wished to prove something to me last night? That your relationship is wise? It is not. That Justice is harmless? It is not. That you are every bit the reckless fool I met three – nearing four – years ago? That whatever this…” he gestured to Hawke with a sigh. “Whatever this is, it is motivated by affection and loyalty, not the sins and vanities of magisters. That much, I can accept. With – some reluctance.” His smirk was so brief Hawke might have missed it if he hadn’t been used to spotting the subtle tells of Fenris’s good moods – their difficult friendship had, he supposed, been good practise for reading Justice’s near unreadable expressions.

“That’s something. You said you’re willing to hear my side of things? I mean, I don’t know how much you want to know…”

“There are limits to my curiosity,” he said drily. “I have already seen more than I wished to. Speaking of…” he gestured to Hawke, and Hawke belatedly realised he’d skipped putting on a shirt. He laughed, and scooted his chair back to dig through a pile of clean, folded laundry for a shirt.

“I thought I had Templars on my doorstep,” he said, tugging it over his head. “Or that pious shit Sebastian. What do you think – shock him with partial nudity, and stab him in the throat when he’s least expecting it?”

“ _Hawke_.”

“I’m at least half joking.” He shrugged, covering the distinctly hand-shaped bruises on his hips and waist as he pulled the shirt down. _Maker_ , if Fenris had noticed those, Hawke had just given himself double the work convincing him that Justice was safe. “He’s a prick, but I get the impression he can’t help it – everyone I know has a major problem with the whole speaking versus thinking _thing._ ”

“And you don’t?”

“Oh, I’m the worst by far.” Hawke grinned.

“Then speak.” Fenris’s voice turned serious again. “I do not understand – is it impossible for you to be with the mage without – ah – _involving_ his demon?”

“Spirit,” Hawke said gently. He’d overlooked enough – if Fenris wanted to understand, he’d have to deal with Hawke correcting him – even if he never actually listened. “And no – first it was just Anders. Justice took more winning over.”

“You courted it?”

“Him. And – not really, not on purpose. I wanted to get to know him – I wanted to know Anders better, and the more I knew, the more I wanted to know. It wasn’t until Justice told me how he felt that I realised… I don’t expect you to get it.”

“I don’t.” He leaned forward, hands clasped together on the table to still his fingers. “That doesn’t mean I am unwilling to listen.”

“We fit.” Hawke shrugged. “That’s the short, no details, no big speeches about my feelings that I think we can both live without, version.” Fenris nodded, and Hawke continued. “If you’re looking for an explanation of what this is – it’s about what you’d guess if I moved any other two men into my house and you walked in on me kissing both of them.”

“Excessive?”

“Nice.” Hawke shrugged. “Domestic. I don’t know, my standards for romantic have always been a little different. This barely even counts as weird for me.”

“I doubt that.” Fenris chuckled, and Hawke breathed a sigh of relief. “This seems doomed to failure.”

“May have heard that once or twice. I’m a Hawke. Long-term stability doesn’t happen for us all that often. Long-term anything implies a better lifespan than we tend to manage.” He laughed, ignoring Fenris’s concerned frown. “They’re worth the attempt. If there are consequences, I’ll handle them.”

“Loyalty to the wrong people will get you killed.”

“And yet, you’re still here. I’ll take your advice when you do. Or – possibly not, if I’m honest – I’m even more stubborn than you are.” Hawke stood up and shuffled over to the pantry sleepily. Maker, he doubted he’d even slept five hours – and he’d bet Anders had managed even less. “This has been – well, uncomfortable and personal. My favourite sort of morning visit from friends. I don’t mean to rush you but…”

“I have intruded.” Fenris frowned – the closest he came to an apology. “I did not sleep – I wanted to resolve this.”

“Glad you did,” Hawke said quickly.

“I’ll leave you be.” Fenris stood. “I – gave you cause to think I might bring Templars down on you. I apologize. Our views on Templars are different, but – well, I understand you have spent a long time running.”

“Who’s running?” He grinned. “I’ve got a naked Fade spirit upstairs in bed and I’d rather he stayed there instead of having to make a mess of Templar blood all over the hall. And Orana _hates_ mopping…”

“ _Goodbye_ Hawke,” Fenris said, a faint thread of amusement running through his disapproving tone. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Course,” Hawke said. “Wicked Grace next week?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Fenris smirked. “It can’t possibly go any worse.”

“Don’t say that,” Hawke groaned. “You’re just asking for trouble – if a war starts in the next week, I’m blaming you.”

***

“You promised Justice.”

Hawke’s reply was muffled against Anders’ stomach, but the vibration of his voice and the tickle of his breath left Anders squirming. Hawke crawled his way up Anders’ body, his tongue following the trail of cream on Anders’ chest up to the hollow at the base of his throat. Anders gasped, and his hands tightened in the sheets.

“Back to work,” he gasped. “That’s – what you said. First thing.”

“This is work,” Hawke said, and his teeth grazed Anders’ collarbone. “I’m feeding a starving refugee mage…”

“Well…” Anders bit back a moan as Hawke growled against his ear, his breath hot. “Justice thinks that’s – mm – acceptable.”

Hawke’s fingertips brushed his lips, and Anders drew them between his teeth. He lapped the thick whipped cream from Hawke’s fingers, tasting a hint of chocolate on his skin from the éclairs, and he moaned as Justice crackled in his lips and they swallowed together. Anders lost himself in the shift of fingers to lips and back again – in chocolate and cream and Justice’s eager growls – and eventually in the bulk of Hawke’s body braced over him, pleasure building as Hawke’s hands and mouth and cock stripped him down to nothing but breathless moans.

They lay together afterwards – comfortable silence between them, along with the taste of chocolate and a mess of crumpled sheets and cooling sweat. Justice was content – tugging at Anders’ mind to remind him of their work, and their cause, but willing to linger for a moment. The world could wait for all three of them to have this – a moment to forget the storm that howled around them, and the chaos still to come.


End file.
